


on the stranger side of your door

by shawsameen



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: F/M, Getting Back Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawsameen/pseuds/shawsameen
Summary: Five years later, Carla and Samuel reunite—and reignite—again.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana, Carla Rosón Caleruega/Samuel García Domínguez
Comments: 75
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the news ester wasn’t coming back for s4 made me sad and then i was like. fuck it lets write another fix-it fic

Samuel thinks he might throw up. Or faint, or something. 

Either way he’s pretty sure he’s on the verge of hyperventilation. A mixture of sweat and condensation from the beer bottle he’s holding is slicking his palm and he sets it down on a random table as he sneaks off from the party, making a beeline for a spot near the large windows at the back of the restaurant. It’s perfect. Perfectly quiet and perfectly far away from everyone else, and perfect for a distraction as he sucks in slow breaths and stares out at the street below. 

Unfortunately he’s momentarily forgotten he’s in one of those types of restaurants that sits on the top floor of a hotel—high-end and extravagant, sure, but also at least fifteen stories in the air. Looking at the drop below only makes his head spin like a wheel on top of doing absolutely nothing to ease his stomach. He closes his eyes against the vertigo; it takes a substantial amount of effort to not just press his entire face against the cool glass too.

He hopes nobody’s noticed his current state, though that’s a stretch given how almost all of his friends’ eyes had turned on him the moment Lu made her announcement a few minutes ago. He supposes he can only hope no one noticed the fact that he’s slipped away, then.

“Dude, you look like you’re going to puke.” No such luck. Samuel lets his eyes flutter back open to find Omar coming to a stop beside him. “Are we sure it’s me who’s getting married in a few days and not you?”

Samuel manages an unamused huff, though it comes out a bit weakly. “I wouldn’t speak so soon. I saw Ander losing his lunch in a plant earlier. You’re next, just wait.”

“Me? Nah, I’m cool as a cucumber.” Omar shifts, and it’s then that Samuel notices how he’s carrying a shot glass in either of his hands, both full to the brim with clear liquid. He offers one out for him to take. “Here. You need something stronger than a beer.”

Samuel looks at it doubtfully, unsure he can even hold down water at the moment. But then Omar raises his eyebrows in a challenge and he reluctantly relents, and the subsequent noise he makes as the tequila burns a hot trail down his esophagus and curdles his insides has his best friend chuckling mercilessly next to him. 

Omar sobers a couple seconds later though, looking him over out of the corner of his eye. “But really, how are you handling… well. You know.”

_You know_ , he calls it, like _you know_ is as minorly inconvenient as getting crapped on by a bird or missing the bus and not, in actuality, an atom bomb that has just been dropped on him without any warning whatsoever. Like _you know_ doesn’t mean that Carla is going to walk in here any minute now and Samuel is therefore going to see her for the first time in five years. The first time since they stood outside Barceló and she told him that she was leaving Spain.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to see her. Believe him, he’s thought of nothing else since then, but…

God. He really, really needs to throw up.

“As you can see, I’m doing fucking great.”

Omar holds up his hands in defense. “Listen, I’m just as surprised as you are, okay? It’s news to me too. You heard Lu, Carla only told her a couple days ago that she was coming back for some business. She’s been so preoccupied with planning everything I’m not surprised it slipped her mind.”

“I’m not mad at her, man. I get it. I’m just—I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Why?” Omar asks, genuinely curious. “It’s not like the two of you haven’t spoken at all since you last saw each other.”

“That’s different,” Samuel immediately argues. Because it is. He and Carla _had_ kept in touch after she graduated, at least for a while, but exchanging stilted texts here and there and leaving comments under one another’s Instagram posts simply isn’t the same. They haven’t talked— _talked_ , like they used to—in a long time. Even longer than the five years that’s gone by. He shakes his head, sighing. “And things have changed.”

Omar knocks their shoulders together. “They haven’t changed that much.”

“You know what I meant,” he replies. “If I wasn’t sure where we stood when we said goodbye, how the hell am I supposed to know where we stand now? I’ve spent all this time being hung up on her, but what if she hasn’t? What if she has a boyfriend?”

“She might,” Omar admits with a tilt of his head. Samuel shoots him a look that says, _you aren’t helping._ “Hey, I’m being real. She’s gorgeous and she isn’t made of stone. But that doesn’t mean anything, anyway. You’ve dated other girls.”

“I don’t think ‘dating’ would be the right word, man,” Samuel laughs dryly. A few one-night-stands, a couple of shared coffees, maybe. He’d gone out with a girl named Alma that Guzmán set him up with a handful of times before he ultimately stopped calling, though that still isn’t something he’d count as dating. And it isn’t that he didn’t like Alma or any of the others; they were nice, they were pretty, but they weren’t the girl that took up so much damned space in his mind. 

Like he said. He’s been hung up.

Omar rolls his eyes. “My point is that it was nothing serious. And if Carla was with anybody who was, we would have heard about it. Our friends aren’t exactly discreet, not with that type of shit, at least.” 

Samuel doesn’t reply, still not entirely convinced. Omar sucks in a somewhat impatient-sounding breath and places his hands on Samuel’s shoulders, turning him so that they’re facing each other.

“You are thinking _way_ too much.”

“That’s kind of my thing.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Omar huffs. He squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Still, I can name one thing I’m pretty positive you didn’t think of.”

Samuel quirks an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“For all we know, Carla’s just as nervous about seeing you as you are about her.”

And… he’s right. Samuel hadn’t thought of that, but only because he has trouble picturing her as such. Even if he’s completely sure that he’s on the extremely short list of people that has ever seen her vulnerable side, her _real_ side, it’s hard to imagine her as anything less than composed.

But for some reason the words calm him down a bit anyway, tension easing out from beneath Omar’s warm hands.

“Yeah,” Samuel acquiesces quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m _probably_ right,” Omar corrects him. It elicits a smile out of Samuel, which is probably what he’d been aiming for, his own grin stretching with it. “C’mon, let’s go back. Staying here and being stuck with your thoughts isn’t going to help you at all. What you need is to keep your mind off of it until then.”

Samuel casts him a weary glance. “Meaning… more shots?”

“Meaning more shots,” Omar confirms, steering him back to the party before he can protest.

Everyone is milling about and talking idly with a drink or appetizer in hand, including Ander’s mom and Omar’s family, and no one mentions anything about his borderline probable-panic attack as Omar pushes him into the bar and walks around to fetch the alcohol. Samuel looks around during the wait, taking in all the evidence of Lu’s hard work. She’s turned a five-star but simply decorated restaurant into something breathtaking: softly lit lanterns hang from the rafters above, white lily centerpieces dot the tables, and there are gold accents everywhere, standing out boldly against the venue’s dark color scheme and wood interior. 

Omar and Ander have a budget, of course, but if there’s anything Lu’s good at—and he has learned that there’s _a lot_ as they’ve grown closer over the years—it’s utilizing her resources. Connections. She apparently still has quite a few family friends whose soft spots remained for her even after her parents cut her off, including the owner of the hotel, who agreed to let them have a wedding weekend here at a substantially low rate. They’ve got the restaurant to themselves tonight, food and drink provided, though they’ll have to serve and clean up after themselves, hence why Omar is putting his bartending skills back to use.

Still, Lu’s done a great job with what little they have. Samuel really has no doubt that she’s probably been running herself into the ground putting the events of the next few days together, even if he wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at her. 

And she’s just as made-up as ever as he notices her approaching him now, though he still catches the guilty wince that passes over her face as she leans into the bar and places her martini down on a napkin.

“I feel like I should say sorry or something.” 

“Don’t worry, I already gave him a talk,” Omar says, sliding another tequila shot over to him that he ignores for the moment. 

“I’m aware that I am not the same person I was when I first met you guys, but please know that apologizing still doesn’t come easy to me, Omar, so let me do this.” Omar laughs at her overt seriousness but gestures for her to continue anyway, and she takes in a breath and turns her eyes back on Samuel. “I’m sorry for forgetting to mention earlier that Carla was coming to town. Really.”

“Lu, it’s fine,” Samuel tells her.

“Is it? Because it honestly looked like you were going to get sick for a minute back there.” 

He tampers down a sigh. So he hadn’t been very subtle, sue him. “I was just… caught off guard, that’s all.”

“His exact words were ‘freaking the fuck out’, but we’re handling that with liquor,” Omar inputs, earning himself a scathing glare. 

“We were just talking on the phone the other day and she said she was going to be here for a bit. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to invite her to tonight at least, but honestly it was the end of the day and I was halfway through winding down with a bottle of merlot.”

“Seriously. It’s okay.” The line of her shoulders relaxes a bit with relief. To convince _himself_ , Samuel picks up the shot glass and knocks it back. Though it doesn’t hit his stomach as sourly, the burn is still harsh. “Fuck, you don’t have any limes back there? Anything?”

Omar casts a look beneath the bar. “There’s some oranges, but I’ll have to cut them.”

“I’ll do it,” Samuel waves him off, already walking around. If it’s obvious that he’s just looking for an activity to occupy himself with, neither of them call him out on it; Omar hands him a cutting board and knife, and Lu excuses herself a beat later as she gets called over by Rebeka across the room.

He cuts the orange. It goes by way too fast, so he cuts another. And then another. He doesn’t know if Omar is looking at him weird because he forces himself to get lost in the routine of slicing, knife through rind through flesh, dumping the pieces in a bowl he fishes out of one of the cabinets below. Before he knows it, he’s moved on to lemons. Then—

Samuel can’t explain it, but he senses her before he sees her, before anybody else even notices she’s arrived. His hands don’t shake if only because he’s holding the knife too tightly for them to.

And then someone calls her name, and it feels like when you break the surface of water at a pool and all the sound comes crashing back in around you.

He makes himself lift his head, blood rushing in his ears as if he’s been shaken like a snow globe. She hasn’t spotted him yet, too busy blinking in alarm at the way Ander, already a tad tipsy, wraps her in a hug. The momentary shock dissipates into a smile as she returns it, dimple peeking out over his shoulder, and Samuel stares. Her hair is a little darker, closer to its natural color than before, though not by much; he’s obviously seen pictures of her since then, so he doesn’t know why that surprises him. Earrings still line the shell of her ears though, just like he remembers, and her dress, white silk and long, makes his head spin in much the same way as looking out the window did.

Samuel _stares._ She looks like she wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. She looks a bit overwhelmed. She looks a lot beautiful.

She looks—she’s looking at him.

He remembers, once, sitting on the stairs at school and glancing up to find Carla watching him, hesitant smile just barely curling her lips, hand in the air, and he realizes he’d been wrong earlier. That had been nervousness, even if he had been too mad at her back then to recognize it. But he does now. As she mirrors exactly how she looked in the hallway that day, he does now, and unlike back then he finds himself returning the greeting. He feels his eyes softening instead of dropping away, his own smile just as small, just as tentative. 

Then someone shifts in the crowd, and the quick movement draws his attention to her right. Samuel’s insides knot up at the same time as he finally notices who’s standing beside her. 

Yeray. Beaming, dressed to the nines, Carla holding him by the elbow. Whatever minuscule amount of doubt and anxiety Samuel’s managed to ease in the past twenty minutes instantly resurfaces—he didn’t know they still talked. But then again, he hadn’t known whether or not they actually broke up when Carla left. He hadn’t even known she was coming tonight. He doesn’t know _anything_ , he reminds himself, and the thought makes his hands curl into themselves.

Except the nails biting into one of his palms are much sharper than he anticipates, and when he glances down with a slight hiss all he finds is blood dripping out from around the knife he must have picked back up by the wrong end sometime during his stupor. He drops it with a clatter that gets mostly absorbed by the rest of the conversation in the room, turning his hand up and wincing at the inch-long gash staring back at him. 

“Shit,” he swears. He looks over his shoulder at the shelf of alcohol behind him, swiping a cheap bottle of vodka before stalking out from behind the bar. At the very least, he’s sure everyone’s too busy passing their hellos to notice this time. 

It doesn’t take him long to locate the bathroom, and thankfully it’s nestled in a corner opposite of the one he’d been standing in earlier, leading him deep away from the gathering. He shoulders the swinging door open, the lights automatically flicking on and forcing his eyes to adjust to the much brighter room; the sound of his footsteps seems to echo loudly against the marble floors as he hurries over to the sinks, hastily setting the vodka down so he can stick his hand beneath the faucet. It hurts like hell, but it’s easy to ignore the pain when he’s got a thousand thoughts running in his mind like horses at a track.

Of course, the one at the forefront is how another thing—probably the most _important_ thing—Samuel hadn’t thought of was the fact that she and Yeray might still be together, something Omar apparently hadn’t considered either. He’s surely thinking about it now though, and he hates the bitter, cottony taste that it leaves on his tongue. 

He uses his free hand to unscrew the cap on the vodka bottle, taking a generous swig before pouring it over his palm. It’s scalding. All he does in response is watch clear liquid turn to red then to pink as it swirls down the drain.

“Samuel?”

His reflection jerks up in the mirror. Brown eyes meet green ones peering out from around the half-open door, and it must only be a fraction of a second that passes but it also feels like forever is stretching between them. Carla blinks out of it first. Her gaze drops to his hand before she slips the rest of the way inside, and he watches her tear off a few towels from the wall dispenser. He’s stuck, like the way the smell of her perfume gets in his nose as she comes close. It’s vanilla and rosy. He likes it. It’s different. 

What’s not different is how he feels like he’s been electrified when she gently takes a hold of his hand and presses the paper towels against the wound, though he isn’t sure if the way he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth has to do with that or because of the pain finally registering again. 

She glances up at him apologetically. “Sorry.” 

Samuel swallows thickly, finding his voice. He hopes it doesn’t come out shaky, because all of his concentration is being flooded into trying to keep his hands from doing the same. “It’s alright.”

“And sorry for...” She indicates around the room. “I saw you cut yourself. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“It’s alright,” he repeats dumbly, and he watches how an amused smile tucks itself to the side with her dimple.

“Is that really all you have to say to me after five years?” 

She’s teasing him. He licks his lips, staring. Doesn’t think he’s blinked once since she walked in here.

“You look good,” he tries again. It’s the world’s biggest understatement, but. 

“Ah, that’s a little better.”

“You look really good?”

That smile widens and she ducks her head briefly, letting out a quiet laugh. “Thanks,” she says. “So do you.”

He has the sudden urge to self-consciously run his fingers through his hair, as in need of a trim as it currently is, but he’s got one hand gripping the lip of the marble countertop and the other resting in her gentle grasp. He’s positive he wouldn’t be able to move either at the moment, even if he wanted to. 

He really doesn’t want to.

“How have you been?” She asks after a beat of silence.

_Confused. Lonely, probably. I haven’t gone a single day without thinking about you._

“I’ve been fine,” he says instead. She doesn’t look away from the bundle of napkins nestled between their palms, but he knows he hasn’t fooled her, so he reattempts. “Mostly fine. A little stressed out.”

And Carla has no idea how close to reality that is right now, but when she gazes up at him questioningly he keeps that to himself. Lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Getting through law school. _Paying_ for law school. The usual.”

“Right, Lu mentioned you were a hotshot lawyer now,” she says.

Again shyness strikes him, enough that he doesn’t fixate on how she’d apparently been talking about him. He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know about that. The opposite of that, probably.”

“Well, I know you have what it takes to be one someday. Drive, tenacity. A complete inability to give up.” 

It’s said light-heartedly, but she pauses immediately once it slips out. They’re both aware that she knows better than anyone else how true that is. Carla purses her lips like she’s silently chastising herself, and for both their sakes, Samuel decides to gloss over the awkwardness.

“What about you? How’ve you been doing?”

He watches as the line of her shoulders slowly rises and falls with a long inhale. A few locks of hair drape over one of them as she tilts her head, like velvet. “I’ve been doing well.” It’s his turn to look at her doubtfully, and she lets out another soft laugh. He doesn’t know how much longer he can put up with hearing that sound; it’s making him dizzy like none other. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a bit stressed too, but it’s been good for the most part.”

“That’s great. I’m glad.” He swallows, trying to fight what he wants to say next. He doesn’t succeed. “So, you and Yeray seem…”

She raises her eyebrows when he doesn’t finish. “Yeray and I seem… what?”

“Nothing.” Samuel shrugs again, too quick. Too casual. “Happy. I guess.”

“Oh. No, it’s not…” She smiles faintly. “We’re just friends now.”

It takes everything in him to not let his entire body deflate with relief, and it takes just as much not to say something stupid next. But then Carla’s fingers tighten around his hand, so slightly that he thinks he might have just imagined it.

“And are you seeing anybody?”

He shakes his head. “No one.”

He _has_ to be imagining things, because he swears that he sees her look pleased for a fraction of a second before she glances down at their hands and realizes that they’ve just been holding them more than she’s been putting pressure on the wound. She releases him, and it’s like the tension has been snapped—Samuel instantly turns towards the sinks again and Carla angles her body in the opposite direction, smoothing her hair back. He clears his throat, inspecting the cut in the ensuing silence. He’ll have to clean it some more, but he doesn’t think it’s deep enough to warrant stitches. The bleeding has stopped, at least.

Carla laughs again. More of a scoff really, and when he glances at her she’s got her eyes on the floor, shaking her head. “I honestly didn’t think the first time I’d be talking to you after this long would be in the men’s restroom.”

“You thought about when you’d talk to me again?”

Her gaze flicks back to him, long and intense and full of so many unspoken things that all he has to do is pick one out and listen. And it’s deafening; so overwhelming that he has to look away. 

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he hears himself admitting quietly a moment later.

“Lu didn’t tell you?”

He lets out a huff. “She forgot up until a few minutes before you arrived.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry,” she breathes, and he lifts his head once more, meeting her eyes in the mirror. 

“Don’t be. I’m happy to see you, Carla.” His lips curl in a reassuring smile. “I am.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she matches it. Quiet passes over them once more, then she indicates towards his hand with a nod. “I’ll go see what I can do about finding you a band-aid,” she says, pushing off of the counter. He watches her reflection walk away, though she pauses when she pulls open the door, looking over her shoulder. “And… I’m happy to see you too. Really, you do look good.”

With that she slips the rest of the way out, and Samuel releases such a deep breath that the mirror momentarily fogs up before him.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let it be said here that this is a yeray hate free zone. while he was an obstacle between carla and samuel, he was hardly the only one, and the hate against him was mostly unfounded. he’s still a good guy! and i loved his and carla’s friendship at the end, so pls refrain from hating on him in the comments
> 
> what you can put in the comments are prompts if you have any! i’ve decided to accept them if you have anything you want to see written because this ship is seriously lacking in fic and i’d like you try and at least contribute a little if i can :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got way too long (and was beginning to take too long to complete) so i decided to merge the other half with the third chapter
> 
> also i meant to mention before that this is supposed to be lighter and happier than my other fic, so assume the future this is set in is one where any angst over what happened with polo is mostly in the past lol we stan a group of healed and happy people who are just excited to all be together again

Almost two hours later and they haven’t spoken again.

It’s not by design. Samuel had spent another five minutes in the bathroom collecting himself after Carla left, rinsing the dried blood from his skin and splashing water on his face, and by the time he came back out he was immediately set upon by Lu, who steered him to his designated seat so that they could get dinner started now that everyone had arrived. Carla had already been positioned at the opposite end of the table; he has a sneaking suspicion that was done on purpose, their friends unaware whether or not putting them too close together would be awkward, but the distance hadn’t stopped him from sneaking glances her way throughout the entire affair anyway. And there was certainly nothing stopping his heart from skipping in his rib cage whenever he caught her looking back.

Even now, as they’re all scattered around the restaurant to socialize some more post-meal, he’s hyper aware of her presence. She and Guzmán have been standing off to the side for a while, deep in a private conversation he can’t hear, and he’s mostly checked out of his own surroundings in favor of observing them from his peripheral. It looks serious. Intense, but not in a heated way; Guzmán has let a lot of his anger go over the last handful of years, and his expression is mostly loose and open as he murmurs something while Carla dabs delicately around her eyes. A second later he’s pulling her into a hug, chin resting atop her head. Samuel swears he can see tears streaking down his cheeks too, but he’s too far to really tell. 

“Earth to Samu, hey,” someone’s saying, snapping their fingers in his face. He blinks, turning, and finds Rebe staring back at him expectantly; she must have asked him something that went entirely over his head.

“Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you wanted to go halfsies on the wedding gift I got the boys, but it seems like you’re too busy thinking about marchionesses, like always.”

It’s said without malice or bitterness. In fact she’s smirking, but he finds himself guiltily rubbing the back of his neck anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” he apologizes again.

“Don’t sweat it.” Rebe knocks him against the shoulder good-naturedly, then follows his gaze to where it’s magnetically drifted off to Carla once more. She and Guzmán have since moved away from the windows and to a small group consisting of Yeray, Ander, and Azucena, and she’s got a new flute of champagne held in her hand. He feels his throat bob in a swallow as he watches her tilt it to her lips. “Did you know she’s running the wineries now?”

“I’d heard about it,” he answers. From Lu, mostly, though he isn’t too sure what that entails. He’d also been told at a time when he was trying very hard to get Carla out of his head, so he hadn’t asked for any more details.

“I wonder if that’s the so-called business that brought her back into town,” Rebe muses, the tone of her voice making him furrow his eyebrows at her.

“What do you mean?”

She snorts wryly. “I forgot how dense you can be sometimes. Jesus, dude, I _mean_ that the two of you spent all dinner swapping heart-eyes like we’re still in grade school. Like none of us would notice. And don’t look, but she’s staring right now.”

Samuel looks. Carla straightens at being caught, smiles a bit instinctually, and immediately returns her attention back to whatever Azucena is saying like nothing happened.

Rebeka promptly smacks him on the side of the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“I said _don’t look_ , dumbass. I wondered if something happened between the two of you when you both came out of the restroom, but shit, now I know you are nowhere near subtle enough for that.”

His face burns. They’d been subtle enough that first time at Barceló, but he doesn’t mention that as Rebe takes a sip from her rum and coke.

“What _did_ happen in there, anyway?”

He shrugs, lifting up his now-bandaged hand. If Lu had descended upon him like a hawk to guide him to the table, then Nadia had been a vulture as she manifested out of nowhere and slapped a band-aid on him. And yes, he means slapped, because she’d practically manhandled him while also chastising him for being reckless, his resulting protests and pained curses falling on uncaring ears.

The smile he saw Carla hiding behind her own hand had been worth the sting, though.

“She was just helping me with this. We talked a bit, that’s it.”

“Right, I see. ‘Talked a bit’, complete with longing stares and bated breaths,” Rebe says. She searches his face. “So. You gonna make your move, or what?”

Samuel has a mouthful of beer when she asks it, so naturally some dribbles down his chin when it makes him splutter. “What? No.” He absently dabs at the mess on the collar of his shirt, casting another nervous glance in Carla’s direction. She’s watching Ander and Guzmán joke around with each other, fond amusement written all over her face. It looks good on her. Happiness looks good on her. Everything looks good on her, and Samuel slams the rest of his drink. “Should I?”

“If you’re seriously wondering whether or not she’s still into you…”

“No, it’s not that.” And the surety he can say that with makes him feel warmer than any amount of alcohol ever could; any doubts he had about Carla’s feelings for him still being existent diminished the moment she touched his hand probably, even if there are a million other things between them that still remain unclear. “You don’t think it’d be too… I don’t know, fast?”

“Why, afraid of being seen as desperate? You’ve never had that problem before, dude.” He opens his mouth to argue, but hell, she’s right, so instead he turns and leans his elbows on the bar. He sets the empty beer bottle down so that he can cover his face with his hands, and Rebe sighs. “No, Samuel, it’s not too fast. If anything, it’s five fucking years too late. None of us can stand watching you mope around any longer.”

He flips her off without looking. She knocks it away, chuckling, and he lets it fall against the wood with a dull sound.

“It’s tough love, champ. Nothing else seems to work with you.”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from the chick who still beats my ass with a pair of boxing gloves,” he says. A smirk stretches across his mouth despite it.

“Hey, and sometimes without,” she corrects, slinging an arm over his shoulder and squeezing him into a hug. “Let’s compromise, huh? It doesn’t have to be tonight, but definitely make your move before the weekend is over. Or else I really will kick your ass, street-style.”

Samuel lets out a huff. “Fine. Deal.” He plays with the peeling label of his beer, seriousness creeping back in. “If I let her go again, it’d be a beating I deserved anyway.”

*

Carla opens her eyes to the sound of someone knocking on her room door. No—not knocking, but banging.

She groans quietly, still half-asleep and therefore under the impression that if she tries hard enough she can fall back under completely, and pulls one of the pillows over her head to try and drown out the noise. It only seems to get more insistent though, and Carla eventually throws back the comforter with a swear as she stomps over to glare through the peephole at whoever oh-so-rudely won’t leave her the hell alone.

It shouldn’t surprise her in the slightest that it’s Lu who’s standing on the other side looking just as grumpy as she feels. Actually, it doesn’t at all, now that consciousness has been thrust upon her and her brain is beginning to regain its motor functions.

“You’re still sleeping? It’s almost eleven in the morning,” Lu asks when she opens the door, hand poised mid-knock. The impatient expression falls from her face in favor of a dubious one as she looks Carla over in her t-shirt and sleep shorts, and she turns back around, knowing full well that Lu will invite herself in and follow.

“I didn’t go to bed until after three,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the thing in question. 

“Late night, hm?” Lu pauses a few steps into the hotel room, and the only thing that’s missing from completing her look as she takes a sweeping glance back-and-forth are a pair of sunglasses for her to salaciously slide down the bridge of her nose. “Spend it with any delivery boys-turned-law students whose lashes are long enough to put Rapunzel to shame?”

Carla rolls her eyes. “Lucrecia.”

“I’m talking about Samu, if that wasn’t obvious, dear,” Lu continues, ignoring her. She slowly turns her head in the direction of the bathroom, pointing scandalously and lowering her voice. “Is he in there?”

“No, will you cut it out? I went to bed late because I couldn’t sleep.” Lu opens her mouth to tease some more, and Carla reiterates, “ _Alone_.”

Alone with her thoughts, certainly. She wasted no time in preparing for bed as soon as she got to her room around ten, but once she exhaustedly collapsed on the mattress she found herself too wired from the entire day’s events to fall asleep, playing them back in her mind. She spent majority of the plane ride from London twisting her hands in her lap, trying to ignore how her insides were knotting themselves up with nervousness. Five years. Five years since she saw anyone besides Yeray in person, and while she video chatted with the girl standing across from her now semi-regularly, she had spent all yesterday morning and afternoon working herself up over the entire thing. Yeray had been the one to pick her up from the airport, and he kindly did not mention once how she was unable to stop bouncing her leg for more than a few seconds at a time on their way to the hotel Lu had texted her the address of.

She doesn’t really know what she’d been expecting when they arrived, but it certainly hadn’t been Ander shouting her name and enveloping her in a hug—even when they were close, he was never the most physically affectionate—or the way Nadia came up to her and smiled, a hand on her arm. Even Cayetana and Rebeka had greeted her warmly, and while it had all been a tad overwhelming, it had hardly been the heaviest part of her night.

Because as she rose from the table after they’d all finished their desserts, Guzmán had caught her by the elbow and asked if they could talk. Just the two of them. And even as the prospect made a whole new type of anxiety course through her, the moment she agreed and he led her over to the windows away from the party she knew she had to do what she hadn’t done all those years ago. As she opened her mouth to apologize for everything though, Guzmán had shaken his head. Laughed. Told her it wasn’t necessary, because he had forgiven her a long time ago. _We’ve practically known each other since birth, Carla,_ he’d said, _and I’m tired of losing old friends_.

It had instantly made her cry, and she didn’t fight him as he drew her into his arms. It mutually hadn’t lasted long though—he refused to let them be sad just as much as she refused to mess up her hair and makeup, because she had not spent so much time on her appearance for the evening just to ruin it with some tears.

Then there was the reason _why_ she’d fretted so much over it, because of course there was one. Carla wasn’t normally the type to put too much thought into an outfit; she wore what was cute, what she liked, but yesterday she’d taken nearly three hours to do up her face and hair and she changed her clothes six times before she was forced to pick the dress she ended up wearing because she was dangerously close to missing her flight.

Yes, there was a reason. And that reason was the delivery boy-turned-law student with devastatingly long eyelashes Lu’s currently pestering her over.

“Boo,” her friend says now, disappointed. “And why is that? He looked positively hot last night.”

He _had_ , and he’d smelt the same too. Carla thought she was going to lose her mind standing so close to him, never mind how just hearing his voice and touching him after so long made her feel.

But, still. “Maybe because we barely got the chance to talk whatsoever?” It’s the truth, much to her frustration; every time she tried something got in the way, usually someone wanting to catch up with her or the fact that Samuel never seemed to be alone. Really, the only time they’d actually spoken to each other was for those few minutes in the restroom. The things they needed to say were better suited for privacy and when neither of them were currently bleeding, but she just couldn’t work up the courage to approach him around everyone and lead him somewhere else afterward. “That’s kind of a prerequisite with a hookup.”

“Not in Rebe’s experience,” Lu grins, though it’s said without any of the judgement she would have once reserved for the other girl. “Or mine, if I’m feeling up to it.”

“Well, _I_ wasn’t feeling up to it.”

“Oh, please, like it didn’t cross your mind,” Lu immediately counters.

Carla darts her gaze off to the side. Okay, so maybe it had. And maybe it had also crossed her mind a few hundred-thousand times over the past five years or so, but she isn’t going to give her friend the satisfaction and admit that, so instead she changes the subject. “Did you want something?”

Lu looks as if she’s debating calling Carla out, but she ultimately lets it slide. “Yes, I nearly forgot. I came here to tell you we’re all going out tonight. Now that everyone’s in town, I felt like a bachelor party would be a great idea, and lucky for us there’s a club next door.”

“A bachelor party. The night before the wedding.” Lu blinks at her as if to say, _duh, what’s your point?_ “Everyone’s going to be trashed. Besides that, it hardly seems traditional.”

“Carla, we’re celebrating a gay, half-Muslim union. Fuck tradition. Tradition has been thrown out the window.”

She has a point. Nevertheless, Carla lifts a shoulder in uncertainty a second later. “Thank you for the invite, and thank you for getting me a room here on such short notice, but the dinner was one thing. Are you sure Omar and Ander are okay with me more or less crashing their wedding?”

“Ay, this again. Trust me, if they had any issue with it they would have said something. They’re fussy like that.” Carla’s phone chimes on the nightstand and she reaches over to swipe it up as Lu keeps talking. “It’s fine, they don’t mind. Anyway, enough about that, I also came here to invite you to brunch. I’m sure Samuel’s already down there waiting for you,” she tacks on, playfully nudging her with her elbow.

Carla can’t help but smile, though it dims a bit once she sees who texted her along with the handful of missed calls and voicemails they must have sent while she was still sleeping. She closes her phone and holds in the sigh she wants to let out, turning back to her friend. 

“I’d love to, but I have a few things I need to get done. And, as you very helpfully pointed out, I’ve slept in too late,” Carla says, keeping her tone light so that she doesn’t raise any of Lu’s suspicions. Unfortunately the other girl is a naturally suspicious person, so Carla gets up before she can corner her with the questions she can sense coming from a mile away. “I’m going to hop in the shower, but I promise I’ll come out tonight, okay?”

Lu watches her for a long moment, manicured eyebrows drawn together, before she once again decides to let it go. She stands and walks back over to the door. “Okay, we’re meeting at the club at nine. Try not to be late.”

“It shouldn’t take me all day.” Carla stretches her lips in another smile. “I’ll see you then.”

*

She’s late.

Things with the inspector had gone on way longer than Carla anticipated them to. Apparently being a key witness against your heavily corrupt, money embezzling, attempted murderer father was infinitely more complicated than confessing to your own part in covering up an actual murder, because while she had spent no more than an hour the last time she was in that police station, today she had spent close to five. That obviously still left her with plenty of time before she was supposed to meet everyone next door, but she was left so mentally drained by the amount of things she had to go over with the police that when she got back to her room she passed out on top of the made bed almost immediately.

She’d woken up with a mere twenty-five minutes to spare for getting ready, and it wasn’t any easier to do than the day before; if anything, it was even more difficult now that she’d actually seen Samuel again. She ended up going with something mostly plain but still tight in all the right ways, an emerald-colored dress with short puff sleeves and a neckline dipping just low enough that the simplicity wasn’t boring. Her makeup, for the most part, was done just as light, with the exception of the perfectly sharp and winged lines swiped across either of her eyelids, and unlike yesterday evening she’d opted to leave her hair down, straightened and smoothed behind her ears, showcasing her earrings: again, nothing too gaudy, just diamonds accompanied with a couple small hoops. The Jimmy Choos—platform and peep-toed, shimmering with platinum glitter—had come last.

So yes, she’s late. But at least she knows that she looks drop-dead enough to probably make quite a few hearts seize in their chests, Samuel’s most importantly.

She definitely turns some heads in line as she bypasses it on her way to the club’s glass doors, the standard broad-shouldered bouncer standing outside of them letting her in without any issue once she tells him she’s part of the wedding party. Carla follows the darkened hallway inside until the handful of people dotting it spill out into the club at large, and she feels the loud music reverberating in her bones as she stands at the top of the short staircase, looking around. It’s been a while since she stepped foot in a nightclub. Maybe a year or two, if not longer—London has its fair share, but every time she went it just hadn’t been the same. Eventually she got tired of expecting to see familiar faces in the crowd and decided to throw herself in school and work.

And while most of the clubs in London were little more than dingy and cramped basements, this one is the exact opposite. Here the ceilings are high, the floors sleek, the decor modern; black and gold patterns line the walls, matching perfectly with the plain-colored couches and chairs positioned about, though they flicker between a handful of different ones underneath the fluorescent lighting covering nearly every square inch of the place. This club is upscale, just on the right side of pretentious, and honestly, Carla hadn’t expected anything less.

The sound of a shout somehow manages to register to her over the music. It draws her eyes to a familiarly wide grin calling out her name, and she echoes the smile as she closes the distance to where Valerio is waving at her, wrapping him in a hug and kissing his cheek in greeting.

“Some things never change, no?” She asks, indicating at the velvet VIP ropes dividing them.

“Eh, some do. For instance, these days I’m strictly alcohol only, remember?” Valerio replies, dangling a drink from his fingertips for her to see. He reaches down and unhooks one of the ropes, holding it aside. “But yes, I’m always riding in style, that’s just something that can’t be helped. Come in, come in.”

She slides past him into the sanctioned-off area, waving at the other familiar faces spread around the trio of couches as he takes her coat from her shoulders. Nadia and Ander look up from something on his phone to wave back—both appear to be drinking sodas, which doesn’t surprise her considering how Ander had been more than a bit drunk last night—and Lu is already walking over, dragging Rebeka behind her by the hand. No one else is around, however, but although it’s impossible to prevent her disappointment, it’s not very difficult to push it aside as the two girls come to a stop in front of her.

“Carla, darling, you made it! And not a second too soon,” Lu greets, a slight edge to her voice as she says the last part. It’s more playful than it is annoyed though, probably due to the fact that she’s already plastered enough to be over Carla’s tardiness—something she can tell from the smacking, slightly wet kiss Lu plants on her cheek if the uncharacteristically mussed state of her hadn’t been enough. “We were just on our way to the dance floor!”

“Yeah, for like the fifth time tonight,” Rebeka chuckles. “She’s even more tenacious when she’s wasted. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“I think the word you meant is ‘fun’.” Lu cocks her head thoughtfully, a manicured nail on her bottom lip. “No, actually, I like tenacious too. Anyway, Carla, you have to join us! Let’s go, come on. I know you love to dance.”

Lu uses her free hand to grab at Carla’s, but even as she lets out her own laugh, she remains unyielding against the other girl’s tugging. “Let me get a few drinks in me first. I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Ugh. Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” she replies, amusement coloring her voice. Drunk Lu _is_ fun; she remembers telling her as much once. 

“ _Fine_ ,” her friend sighs dramatically. “Don’t take too long.”

“Seriously, don’t. My legs aren’t going to fucking survive the night otherwise!” Rebe calls over her shoulder as she lets Lu pull her away.

Valerio brushes her arm as soon as they get swallowed up by the crowd, leaning in so that she can hear what he has to say without him having to raise his voice. “Yeray told me where you’ve been all day. How are you doing?”

She can’t help the tired sigh that leaves her at the mere thought of how much time she’d spent sitting in the inspector’s office; it’s going to take more than a four hour nap to fully erase the exhaustion it’d left in her. Still, the answer she gives is the truth.

“Honestly? I’m fine. I just want the whole thing done and over with as soon as possible, but if today was anything to go by, I doubt it’s going to be that easy.”

“With parents like ours, it never is.”

Carla scoffs in agreement. “Which is exactly why I need that drink.”

“I believe what you said was ‘a few drinks’, though completely understandable either way,” Valerio replies, that lopsided grin spreading across his face again. “Need assistance finding the bar?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” She pats him on the chest before reaching over to lift the rope. “Have fun.”

“Oh, you know me: the epitome of fun. I’ll make a party out of Mr. and Mrs. Coca-Cola here yet.”

She giggles as she saunters off, weaving her way around bodies effortlessly. It doesn’t take her long to find the bar at all considering it’s a giant rectangle in the middle of the place swarmed with people, and surprisingly, considering the latter, she also doesn’t have to fight tooth-and-nail to secure a spot at the counter. She flags one of the bartenders down and puts in her order of a champagne cocktail before propping her chin in her hand, taking the opportunity to look around some more as she waits. From here she has a fairly good view of the dance floor, and she almost immediately picks out Rebeka and Lu near the sidelines: they look like they’re having a good time, and she watches in amusement as they pointedly wrap themselves around one another as a pair of guys dances up on them. Her eyes flit up to the second level above and finds Guzmán observing the whole thing from his vantage point against the railing. It’s close enough to the stairs that it’ll be easy for him to intervene if he needs to, but the guys leave without much of a fuss, more wounded from being ignored than they are angry.

Carla moves her attention elsewhere, not even trying to lie to herself about who she’s searching for. But she’d mostly lucked out with her other friends; there are simply too many people around for her to find traces of Samuel anywhere.

Then she senses someone walk up to the bar on her other side and she smiles before she even turns to see who it is. She doesn’t need to, because for some reason she knows it’s him. 

“Would it be too creepy to admit that I stared at you from across the room for forever before I finally walked over here?”

She shifts her chin over in her palm, raising an eyebrow. “That’s certainly a pick-up line I’ve never heard before.”

“You’ve heard many?” He blinks a few times. “Wait. Stupid question. Of course you have.”

His comment sends a pleased warmth through her body, and she presses her lips together, looking him up and down. 

Carla’s mouth goes a little dry. His two-tone shirt stretches nicely across his broad chest, the short sleeves doing the same around his biceps; the first few buttons are undone, and much to her surprise, she can see the beginnings of a tattoo she doesn’t recognize peeking out from behind the tank top he wears beneath it. His hair is a little messier than what she remembers to be normal, curling against his forehead and temples, and his lips are shiny with saliva—or, more likely, alcohol, because as she checks Samuel out she also immediately realizes that he’s drunk. 

She’s not sure to what extent; his eyes are focused on her enough and although he’s speaking loosely in a way that only drink can achieve, he’s not slurring. She _is_ confident that she’d be able to see the telltale flush to his skin if it weren’t for the colored lighting cast over them, though. Still, it’s all admittedly a very good look on him, but the bartender comes back and places her drink in front of her before she can get a chance to say so.

The alcohol hits her tongue sweet and strong, and after the day she’s had, she can’t quite suppress the urge to take a bigger sip than she initially meant to. She notices the amused look Samuel is giving her and self-consciously licks any spilled liquid away. “What? I apparently have some catching up to do.”

Samuel is at least drunk enough to watch the movement way more unabashedly than how he’d looked at her all last night, eyes round and rapt, and she stares back at where his own mouth parts, momentarily breathless.

It crosses her mind again. Make that a few hundred-thousand times and one.

He breaks the tension first, blinking down at what appears to be a half-empty mojito loosely grasped between his fingertips. “Hey, this is only my second one.” She skewers him with a doubtful expression, and he cocks his head in acquiescence. “So I may have had a beer when I first got here. And then did a round or three of shots with Guzmán.”

“Your poor liver,” she says. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to over-mix alcohol?”

“I’m sure someone has.” He grins, cheeks dimpling cutely. “I’m not a very good listener.”

Carla snorts. “No, you are not.”

That grin widens with the familiarity; the old reminder that indeed, despite the time that’s passed, she still knows him. She hides her own smile by lifting her cocktail back to her lips.

“You look amazing, by the way,” he says a few seconds later. “Like—really, really amazing, wow. I like your dress.”

Another wave of gratification peels down her spine. And having heard it throughout her entire life, Carla is more than used to being told she’s beautiful. It doesn’t ring hollow and materialistic like it usually does though, not when it’s coming from him, and especially not when he’s gazing at her like this—with an obvious touch of lust, of course, but also with his unique type of sincerity that never fails to make her speechless.

She musters up words from somewhere in spite of it. “How’s your hand?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Samuel says with a shrug, flexing it experimentally. “Still would’ve been worth it even if it did, though.”

That sincerity again. Her chest feels fluttery. “You’re incredibly honest when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” he replies. “And you haven’t seen me at my most honest yet tonight.”

Carla watches him for a long moment. He unflinchingly holds her gaze, dark eyes heavy and meaningful, and it’s so easy to forget that they’re surrounded by strangers on all sides and not just two people finding each other again in an empty room.

That is, until she suddenly registers the elbow that’s been pressing into the small of her back for the past few minutes and someone bumps into Samuel, sending him stumbling forward into the already minuscule space separating them. Carla reflexively steadies him with one hand against his chest, scowling over his shoulder at the drunkard who’d pushed him. 

“Idiot,” she mutters, though the guy is already walking away, none the wiser to what he’d just done. 

“Sorry,” Samuel breathes, tickling the curve of her cheek and abruptly making her aware of how close they are now. His heart is beating rapidly underneath her fingers, some of them having slipped beneath the open collar of his shirt so that she can feel the soft smattering of chest hair there, as well as how searing hot his skin is. She swallows thickly.

“Not you.” Her lips curl upwards on their own accord. “Idiot.”

He smiles back, so close that Carla swears she can feel the movement. She’s frozen in place and he isn’t moving either, and she can’t tear her eyes away from his mouth as his tongue darts out over his bottom lip. She manages to lift her head up, so infinitesimal that for a second she doubts it even happened, and she could kiss him. She could really kiss him, she wants to kiss him. But—

The song changes to something way more upbeat, the laser lighting switching over to a bright and assaulting pattern to compliment it as the DJ loudly calls everyone out to the floor, and Carla closes her eyes to shield them against it as much as she does to collect herself. She feels rather than hears Samuel exhale a tiny sigh, leaning away now that the spell’s been broken. He doesn’t leave, but he does turn his head away so that she can’t see his expression, only the hand that he runs over it. 

She mouths a silent curse, knocking back the remnants of her drink. The song is a popular dance number, and couples all around them abandon the bar in favor of heeding the DJ’s summons. She observes Samuel out of the corner of her eye; even if he still isn’t facing her, some of the tension has eased out of his body again, which makes hers fill with relief. She doesn’t want him to think that she, well, doesn’t want him, because she does. More than anything. 

He’s tapping a finger along to the beat on the wooden counter, and that’s when Carla gets an idea. She signals the bartender back over. 

“Two shots of Fireball, please,” she requests. The man nods, plucking the bottle off the shelf and collecting twin glasses, and Samuel finally turns back in surprise.

“I think just the mere thought of whiskey on top of everything else I’ve already had is enough to make me hurl.”

She wrinkles her nose, accepting the now-filled shot glasses with a thank you. “I know. That’s why these are for me.”

He watches her throw them back in quick succession. “Weren’t you just saying something about not mixing alcohol?”

“I have a rich kid’s tolerance,” Carla replies, slipping her hand into his with a grin. “Come on.”

“Wait, wh—”

Any other confused spluttering that comes out of Samuel’s mouth gets entirely swallowed up by the music as she leads him to the dance floor, palm warm in hers and then body even warmer once he has to press close so that they don’t get separated while she weaves them over to where Lu and Rebe have shifted towards the center. Lu shouts excitedly when she sees her, expression turning into a lewd one once she also notices Samuel behind her. Carla rolls her eyes at the way the girl wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, letting herself get pulled in anyway while she sees Rebe doing the same to Samuel out of her peripheral.

“He’s been not-so-subtly asking about you all night,” Lu says in a rush. “I think the wait was getting to him. He’s full of liquid courage.”

She huffs. “I noticed.”

“But I’m glad he’s finally found you, and I’m glad you’re finally out here with us!” Lu sings as she momentarily twirls away, coming back only slightly breathless. “Carla and Lu, fucking together again!”

Carla throws her head back in a laugh, letting her body move naturally to the tempo, shifting to make room for Rebeka and Samuel as they inch closer. The four of them dance in their little group, music so thunderous that she feels it pounding in her blood, though then again that could just be her hyper aware of Samuel every time he brushes against her. But it’s good. She knew she missed everyone, but she missed _this_ : the drinking and dancing, the sweating, the laughing not because you can hear a thing anybody’s saying but at the sheer fun of it all. This is why she never went out in London, because London didn’t have this. This music, or these people.

And she knows that she’s way too out of practice to not be sore tomorrow, heeled feet already aching, but then Rebe is lifting her hand above her head to spin her and Samuel is watching with a mixture of fondness and surprise and Lu is aggressively demanding he do the same to her, and it’s _fun_. Their movements force a small circle of space to form around them, providing some breathing room as well as a few wayward glances as they get even more loud and unashamed, some amused, some annoyed, the rest too drunk to give a shit either way.

So they dance. Carla’s vaguely aware of a few song changes as they do, though she hardly stops to calculate how much time goes by. It’s not until the fast-tempo beat eases into something more sensual—but still no less overpowering—that she finally rechecks into her surroundings, catching her breath. A fair portion of the crowd is taking advantage of the lull to go rehydrate or rest, moving off the floor, and it looks like Rebe and Lu are of the same notion as they exhaustedly collapse against one another. 

“I’m fucking beat,” Rebe announces, turning to where Lu’s head is resting on her shoulder. “I think that’s enough dancing for us tonight, huh?”

The other girl pouts at the prospect of having her fun ended even though Rebe’s arm around her waist is the only thing keeping her from sinking to the floor. “No, no, there’s never enough dancing!”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the cramps in my calves and the myriad of blisters on my feet, damned shoes.”

“You know what helps with pain? Tequila,” Lu shouts, persistent as ever and making the rest of them laugh. 

“The only clear liquid we’re putting in you for the rest of the night is water, girl,” Rebeka replies, hefting her closer. She nods at Carla and Samuel. “We’ll see you back at the couches, if not the hotel.”

“Do you need help with that?” Samuel nods at where Lu is rapidly turning into dead weight, and Rebe rolls her eyes.

“Please, dude. I’m stronger than you.” 

Carla waves at the other two girls as they depart, turning to face Samuel and letting out a laugh once she sees the somewhat put-out expression on his face. She smooths her hands over his shoulders, smiling in a manner that’s only a little teasing as she leans in so he can hear her now that the intro of the song has gotten louder. “I think you’re nicely muscled, if it’s any consolation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, arms draping themselves around him. “But what about you, are you tired? Wanna head back?”

She feels him shake his head, much to her relief. “No, not tired. I’m having a good time.”

“Me too.” He looks as if he doesn’t quite know what to do despite his words, like he’s hesitant to make the first move, so Carla takes the initiative and draws him in, their chests just shy of touching. His own hands naturally fall to her waist. Even though the song isn’t nearly as fast as the others, the deep and dark beat makes it inevitable for them to eventually press closer together than they have all night; their hips sway in perfect rhythm, and she smiles again. “You’re good at this. You were holding out on me.”

She’s just tipsy enough to not feel morose about why: the fact that they never really _got_ the chance to dance together like this. She turns around then, pressing her back against Samuel’s chest, and tries not to tremble as his lips accidentally skim the shell of her ear, something that’s hard to do with his thumbs also resting high on the curve of her ass. 

“It’s just the alcohol,” he replies, and she’s positive the hoarseness in his voice isn’t only due to him having to raise it. It’s her turn to shake her head, chuckling.

“I don’t think so, handsome.” The old nickname comes easily. His grip tightens around her.

“Then it’s just you.”

Again, it’s so honest, but this time she really can’t suppress her reaction. She knows he has to feel her shiver even with how slight it is. 

Carla doesn’t say anything in response, not trusting herself to. She’s breathless and keyed-up, and she’s fully aware that the close proximity isn’t helping with that at all, but it’s easy, the alcohol making both of their movements loose and fluid. Samuel lets her guide them, side-to-side and round and round, fingers splayed across her hip bones. He parts his hair with her nose. Her hand curls around the nape of his neck, pulling him all the more close. The music washes over them, in them, _through_ them; her collarbones are speckled with perspiration and her hair is most definitely beginning to curl, but she feels amazing, and she doesn’t care.

A couple moments later she raises half-lidded eyes to find a random guy who is either completely dense or just annoyingly overconfident slowly making his way over to her, and before she even has a chance to turn him away Samuel easily shifts them around so that he’s between the two of them. The clear claim makes her gasp just as much as the sudden maneuver does; it puts them a bit further into the corner so that she’s secluded from everyone else, and the guy must get the hint, because they remain blessedly unbothered as the song shifts into another seductive number. She thinks he might be mouthing along to the words—she can’t hear much of anything anymore besides the music and her blood rushing in her ears, but she can feel the faint stubble on his jaw scraping deliciously against the curve of her cheek as they move together.

Samuel’s body is a hot, firm wall behind her. One of his palms strokes across her abdomen while the other drags up her rib cage, pausing just short of where she wants to scream for him to touch her, and she has to bite her lip. She’d been trying to show some self-control earlier with their almost-kiss, but now that her three drinks have worked their way into her system she finds herself close to throwing caution to the wind. She _wants_ him. Somewhere in the buzzed and aroused haze of her mind, she tells herself that the conversation they really need to have—the one she’d wanted to have _before_ they dissolved into one another—can still come later, because right now the last thing she wants to do is talk. 

They lower a bit, legs entangled so that Carla’s practically sitting in his lap. She’s struck with the sudden desire to see his face, to see if he’s just as overwhelmed and affected as she is, and when she shifts at the same time as he sways, the irrefutable proof that he definitely is presses against her. 

Her eyes fly open even as she grinds down, unwilling and unable to help it. The hot rush of breath against her ear and the accompanying vibration that rumbles through her lets her know that Samuel has just let out a groan, and she gasps her encouragement as he instinctively leans into the friction, quickly growing desperate in another place for some of her own. 

She’s just about to turn and straddle one of his thighs to alleviate that need when Samuel releases her and stumbles back, quick as lightning. 

The sudden loss of him is staggering in more ways than one, and she regains her balance, turning to find him blinking at her with a dazed expression on his face. Both of their chests are rising and falling in sync, heavily and rapidly. She tries not to feel dejected at how fast he’d moved even as she opens her mouth to say something. To reassure him. _Anything_.

He beats her to it. 

“I should—um.” His hands move jerkily as he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. “I, fuck, I—I need to use the restroom.”

_No, don’t go_ , Carla wants to say, but it gets trapped uselessly in her throat. She takes a half-step forward and reaches out for him nonetheless, but he’s already brushing past, roughly shouldering his way through the other dancers and leaving her standing in this corner alone, arousal still thrumming in her veins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t forget to leave prompts if you have any! preferably nothing exceeding a mature rating, but i’m going to include them in their own separate fic when i’m done with this story along with any other original ideas i get :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know last chapter i said this was supposed to be lighter but apparently i’ve now established angst roots i can’t get rid of so there’s that skdjsk but also my fluff roots came back in full force so there’s THAT
> 
> also please note that i’ve changed the chapters from 3 to 4 so there’s one more to go! enjoy :)

Samuel ignores the indignant yells thrown out at him as he breezes past the line outside of the bathroom, going right over to the nearest sink and gripping the edge with his hands. The urge to relieve some of the pressure in his pants by pushing against it is fought off, but just barely. He blows out a deep breath, and half of a second passes before he leans down to splash cold water on his face. It doesn’t really help much with his erection, but combined with what happened back there, he’s at least considerably more sober than he had been a few minutes ago.

He panicked. He knows he panicked. And while he also knows, realistically, that Carla had been just as worked up as he was, he still can’t help but feel like he crossed a line. 

When Guzmán pulled him in for those shots two hours ago, it’d been done in the hopes that it would help Samuel calm down, get out of his head; make it easier for him to talk to Carla without feeling like he had something sitting on his chest. And it _had_ made it easier, but he’d been prepared for only that. _Talking_. Not her purposefully grinding against him on the dance floor and shivering in his arms. So yes, he panicked, and in hindsight he should’ve seen it coming, because even when they nearly kissed at the bar he felt like his heart was going to burst directly through his rib cage. 

And then there was also that. The near-kiss. He could sense her hesitancy, even before they both pulled away. Although he doesn’t know why she was holding back, he hadn’t been so drunk to realize that her own arousal was probably clouding her judgment while they were dancing; after all, he was in the same boat. Who’s to say if it was something she really wanted or if they were both just caught in the moment?

Samuel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. All of this thinking is making him dizzy. _She_ makes him dizzy. He isn’t sure whether the alcohol had been more of a help or a hindrance in the end, because he should’ve realized that there is no substance in the world capable of overwhelming him quite like Carla can.

Things had been going well though, right? For a little while, even after the brief awkwardness at the bar. Hopefully him being unable to control himself hadn’t ruined it. But then again, maybe running away afterwards had, and with that thought Samuel gently bangs his head against the mirror. He’s an idiot, and not in the playful way Carla called him earlier, but a _dumbass_ in the way Rebe had called him last night after cuffing his ear. She definitely would have smacked him again if she’d still been around to witness him freaking out and abandoning Carla back there. Lu probably would’ve, too. 

Those are two things he’s positive about, at least. The third is that he needs to go back and apologize, so Samuel cups another handful of water and stares resolutely at his dripping reflection. Outside, the music has since reverted from the slow, sensual type that partially got him into this mess to the energetic club mixes meant to draw the crowd back in, and he waits for five muffled beats to pass before he pushes off the sink and stalks back into the hallway. Again, he avoids making too much eye contact with the disgruntled drunkards waiting outside; the last thing he needs tonight is to get into a brawl over a full bladder of all things, and he thinks he’s mostly in the clear until he reaches the end of the narrow corridor and feels a hand circling his wrist.

But the touch is gentle, the skin soft. He’s not being yanked back either, just halted. When he turns his head it’s Carla he finds standing behind him, the blazer she must have initially worn here draped over her shoulders. It still doesn’t cover the short hemline of her dress, and her thighs have the same damn effect on him now as they have since he first saw her standing at the bar.

He forces himself to look back up. Carla’s already wordlessly searching his face, and she must find whatever it is that she’s looking for because next thing he knows she’s tightening her hold and pulling him toward the club’s main entrance. He catches Omar’s eyes from their VIP section on the way out, but the thumbs-up his friend gives him goes unreturned; Samuel has no idea what’s about to happen, and he’s nowhere close to deciphering anything that already has than he was five minutes ago. The fresh air that hits him once they finally step outside clears his head a bit further though, working better than the water had, at the very least, and Carla leads him around to the street-side of the club so that they’re mostly alone save for a few people waiting for their Cabify rides and a couple at the far end of the sidewalk making out. He doesn’t miss how she studiously ignores the latter just as much as he does before she turns and leans a shoulder against the wall, gaze flicking up to him. 

“I think we should probably talk,” she says after a tiny, resigned breath.

Samuel immediately nods. Better to get it done and over with. “Listen, about what just—”

But Carla interrupts him. “No, not about that. That was…”

She rubs her lips together as she trails off, that familiar heat flashing in her eyes for a brief second. Her thumb smooths over his wrist bone where she hasn’t let go of him yet. The combination of both makes his voice come out fairly strained as he supplies, “A lot?”

Seemingly in spite of herself, she huffs. “Yeah, but it was okay. More than okay.” Her eyes lower just enough so that she’s looking at him from under her eyelashes. “Samuel, you know I liked it.”

He _does_ know, is the thing, so he’s not sure why hearing it surprises him. But it does anyway, and it also short circuits his brain.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. She rolls her eyes, but the smile that accompanies it tells him the gesture is fond.

It fades quickly, though, as she falls serious again. “And because of that I was ready to put it off until after, but no. We need to talk. About us. About what we’re doing and… what’s been done.”

Samuel sags against the wall, sighing raggedly. Carla’s forced to release him as he scrubs his hands down his face. “Right.”

He senses her move so that her own back is pressed to the cold cement, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs softly.

“What are you apologizing for?” 

It makes him frown; he’s genuinely confused. Maybe she’d read his reaction wrong? He’s not reluctant to talk. Answers are what he’s been waiting for for over five years, after all, but now that it seems like he’s finally about to get them his booze-filled stomach is doing somersaults. 

She shrugs, however, and silence briefly washes over them. Then—

“Your blue balls, maybe,” she says, traces of amusement in her voice.

He can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of him even if he instantly feels his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. “Hey, they were self-imposed. I was the one who bolted—which _I_ should be apologizing for, by the way.” She looks up at him questioningly. “I shouldn’t have left you like that, I’m sorry.”

Carla remains quiet, but she does press her nose against the sleeve of his shirt in a way that lets him know it’s okay.

“And you’re right,” he continues. “We need to talk about everything.”

This time she does open her mouth to say something, but a girl stumbles over to the curb and throws up on the side of some unlucky person’s car before she can. Carla wrinkles her nose in disgust, and he’s caught between thinking she looks cute, wanting to laugh again, and also being a bit grossed out with her.

“Not here though,” she stresses then, straightening and reaching back down for his hand. Their fingers entangled this time, Samuel follows easily as she begins to head in the direction of the hotel, and it’s a short trip, obviously, which is why he’d opted out of his own jacket while getting ready earlier. But it’s gotten a bit colder over the last few hours and he can’t suppress the shiver that wracks through his body as a gust of wind suddenly blows past them; Carla notices, switching their hands so that his arm is around her, and leans into his side to share her warmth.

She smells incredible. He tries and fails not to stiffen at what the full-body contact reminds him of, and she notices that too.

That pretty smirk she’s wearing gets wiped off with a surprised yelp when he decides to retaliate, slipping a hand beneath the hem of her coat and touching a spot on her flank that he remembers to be ticklish. She indignantly shoves him away, hooking their fingers back together before he can get too far, and Samuel shares her grin, feeling like he’s regaining his footing on more than one level.

The lobby is quiet when they push through the doors, making the leftover ringing in his ears from the club much more apparent, and they smile politely as they bypass the receptionist and round the corner leading to the elevators. Even though he still has his own apartment in the city, Lu insisted on making a getaway out of this weekend as much as possible and therefore got all of them rooms—it was a thoughtful gesture and the hotel is definitely nicer than anything he can ever dream of living in himself, to be sure, but he’s also sharing with Valerio. Samuel doesn’t want to risk getting interrupted, not again, so he’s just about to ask Carla what floor she’s on when she tugs him past the elevators altogether and goes further down the hall toward the sign pointing them to the pool. 

Again he follows, because he’s pretty sure she could drag him across the city and he’d have no argument right now, but he does try to figure out what she’s up to as they slip inside. It’s just as empty as the lobby, which isn’t surprising given that it’s pushing midnight; Carla pulls him over to a pair of lounge chairs and he perches on the edge of one while she does the same on its twin, their knees bracketing each other. Once she removes her jacket and settles in, she notices the curious look he’s giving her and lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug.

“I figured going up to a room, just the two of us, would probably end up leading to things counterproductive to the goal of talking.”

“We’re just as alone here. And being in public never stopped us before,” Samuel points out, definitely too quickly based on the flat look Carla gives him in return. It still does nothing to hide how her eyes darken with the same memories currently flooding his own mind, but he rubs the back of his neck, conceding with a chuckle. “Okay, okay. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

Carla silently regards him for a long while, her expression unreadable. He wonders if they’re going to jump right into it and she’s simply sorting out where to start—and then he wonders if she’s waiting for _him_ to start, and that just makes him wrack his brain on _how_ to start. He has to resist shifting nervously as more questions whirl around in his head, the biggest of them being: what if by “talk” she actually means something entirely different than what he’s expecting?

Then a smile spreads across Carla’s lips, slow and dangerous, and he abruptly stops thinking in general. His eyes rise with her as she stands. She steps from between the small space separating their chairs, and his breath catches in his throat as her fingers do the same at the zip of her dress. It flutters softly to the floor a moment later, revealing a plum-colored set of lingerie and a hell of a lot of skin, both sights making him clench his jaw. 

She kicks off her heels, then turns back around to face him again. Samuel musters up the willpower to look back up at her face and speaks, somehow. “What are you doing?”

“Testing your resolve,” she replies. “Since you seem so intent on testing mine tonight.”

She has to be kidding. “ _I’m_ intent?” 

“Yes, you are,” Carla says matter-of-factly. “Now get in.”

Samuel has no idea how she can make something as impulsive as the cannonball she does next look so elegant, but she does, and the resulting splash has him up and reaching the pool’s edge just as she resurfaces. He shakes his head, incredulous. And also to clear the effect that the image of her—illuminated by the soft pool light, hair floating around her bare shoulders, that smile still on her face—has on him. 

“How, exactly, is this not counterproductive to talking?”

“Oh, we’re still going to talk. It’s just more fun like this.” He’s about to argue some more, and Carla must be able to tell because her voice turns deep in a way that instantly makes him pause. “Samuel. Shut up, take off your clothes, and get in the fucking pool.”

And, well, he has no choice but to comply now.

Carla studiously observes as he unbuttons his shirt and yanks his tank top over his head. Her expression goes appreciative rather quickly, especially when he’s left standing there in just the pair of briefs he has no doubt is hiding very little—if anything at all—and then it turns expectant, an eyebrow raised. 

He jumps in. It’s shockingly cold. But when he comes back up Carla is already there, and the warmth in her eyes as she slicks his hair out of his face is enough for him. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” Samuel echoes. She’s still carding her fingers through the wet strands; even as he leans into it, he finds himself feeling a tad self-conscious. “I’ve been meaning to have it trimmed.”

“I like it,” she says earnestly. “It’s very nineties heartthrob.”

He laughs, relaxing into her touch, and suddenly realizes that he’s since circled his arms around her waist. But he doesn’t feel panic rise within him again, and he thinks the water—or maybe the lack of a faster getaway this time—is grounding him. 

The goosebumps that erupt across his skin as Carla traces the tattoos below his collarbone, though... those just can’t be helped. 

“When did you get this?”

“A few years ago. When I found out I got into law school,” he recalls easily. “We all might have… _over celebrated_ , and Ander knows someone who doesn’t care about working on wasted clients.” 

They’re three simple outlines of birds in flight, each one meant to symbolize him, Nano, and their mom respectively. They were finally free, all the shit put behind them, and Samuel is thankful for that just as much as he’d been thankful to his drunken self for choosing a tattoo he’d actually get sober. It just as easily could have been something embarrassing. Like the name of the woman currently in his arms, for example, brushing one of the birds with her thumb. 

He watches Carla watch her own movement, unable to see what emotion is reflecting in her eyes from this angle. Instead he focuses on the line of her nose, the curve of her upper lip, the sweep of her eyelashes; the tiny furrow between her eyebrows and the gentle touch of her thumb on his skin.

And then she speaks, and all he can fixate on is the regret in her voice.

“I should have been there.” 

Samuel automatically lifts a comforting hand to the nape of her neck. She’s not the only one to blame for everything they’ve missed in each other’s lives. For the time that’s passed them by. “I should have visited you.”

“Why didn’t you?” It’s not accusing, but a real question.

“I…” He blows out a breath. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

Carla releases a deep sigh of her own, and Samuel tightens his arms around her as she lays her head on his shoulder once more. “We really need to work on our communication.”

“The plan was to start now, wasn’t it?”

She nods against him, but otherwise goes quiet for several long seconds again. Samuel, sensing how she really is figuring out where to begin now, patiently waits. Goosebumps of her own erupt under his palm as he strokes across her upper back, eventually accompanied by the vibration of her voice when she finally speaks. 

“My dad is going to prison,” she says. “For good this time.”

His movements immediately pause in his surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about that. She doesn’t take his hesitation as incentive to stop, however, and therefore keeps going. “It’s why I came back. The inspector… she contacted me. I’m supposed to testify.”

Samuel remembers exactly what happened the last time she was supposed to testify against her family, and the memories must be written all over his face because she momentarily glances away, guilt splashed across her own. 

“He’s going to prison,” she repeats after a short silence, tone stronger. “Even if I didn’t want to testify, they have too much evidence against him, and he hasn’t had the connections to save his ass or money to buy them in a long time. But I do want to. He… Samuel, he deserves so much worse than rotting in a cell.”

Even if he knows it’s true, he doesn’t get a chance to ask what she means. Because she tells him everything then. About the blackmail, the manipulation. About using her mother against her, then the both of them forcing her to basically sell herself to Yeray. 

About using _Samuel_ against her and how that was the reason why she was so intent on pushing him away from her. 

He’d wanted answers, but by the time she’s finished he’s not sure whether or not he’s better off now that he has them. Sometime in the past however many minutes they’ve drifted to the side of the pool, and Samuel is gripping the cement edge so hard that he thinks his knuckles might shatter, anger and disgust pulsing throughout his entire body.

“Samuel, it’s over now,” Carla attempts to reassure him, her hand cupping his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. But all he can think about is how she hadn’t shed a single tear the entire time she talked about what happened; how her voice didn’t even waver. She just sounded tired, resigned, like she’d come to terms with it a while ago and just wanted to finally put it behind her. 

With that, he abruptly turns. Tightly wraps her in his arms. Buries his face so deep in her neck that he almost can’t breathe. 

She recovers from her momentary shock quickly, relaxing into him. She pets his hair and doesn’t need to ask what he’s doing or why; he knows that she knows.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs.

“You had to go through all of that on your own. Fuck, you had to _heal_ from it on your own.”

“It was my choice to leave.” She tucks her own face into him, fingers coming up to curl around his bicep. They’re completely wrapped up in one another. He doesn’t think she’s going to say anything else, but then he hears her next confession, so small that it’s almost like she doesn’t really want him to. “I told myself that it was worth it, that it was the right thing to do, as long as you were safe. Happy.” 

But she knows he’s heard because her grip turns tight, almost desperate. “Samuel, please. Tell me you’ve been happy.”

He’s had his mother and Nano. He’s had Omar, Rebeka, Guzmán; Nadia and Ander and Lu and, hell, even Valerio and Cayetana. He’s had five years of memories with them to help scab over most of the wound that Las Encinas has left on him.

_Most_.

“I’ve missed you,” he answers.

And he doesn’t mean for her to—but Carla _shatters_. 

“Forgive me,” she rasps against him, and he absorbs the words just like he does every shake and tremble wracking through her body; with his hands, smoothing them down her hair, her upper arms, her spine. Anywhere and everywhere he can touch. Gentle and calming ones as she cries into the crook of his neck, her fingers digging into his back. 

When she begins to wind down, he presses his first kiss to her in too long right on her temple, tasting traces of sweat and shampoo and chlorine: another unspoken acceptance to match the apologies they can’t seem to stop giving each other tonight. 

She sniffles quietly. A second later, she places a kiss of her own on the leader of the tattooed birds on his chest.

They’ll be okay, Samuel decides then. He’s going to make sure of it.

“You’re not going through this trial by yourself too,” he tells her. He keeps his tone gentle, but his words hard. Brooking no argument. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it, huh?” She sounds like she’s trying to come off as unimpressed, but he doesn’t buy it. After all, he can feel the small smile she’s wearing where it’s curved on his skin.

“Nope,” he replies. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She softens; he can feel that as well. “I’m staying once it’s all finished, you know. So it goes both ways.”

He cranes his head back to look at her. “Really?”

“You’re stuck with me too,” she confirms, but it comes out heavier. He hears the extra meaning it carries, the unspoken question, and so he kisses her forehead. Of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Carla’s eyes are closed once he pulls back, and he brushes a thumb over the apple of her cheek. When they finally flutter open a handful of seconds later, she glances around like she’s suddenly remembered their surroundings and huffs a dry chuckle.

“Getting in the pool was supposed to make this... less intense.”

Samuel raises his eyebrows, pretending to be shocked. “You mean to tell me you aren’t currently having the time of your life?”

The laugh that leaves her now is real, even as she shakes her head, playing along. “No.”

“Alright,” he says, getting a thought. “Let’s have fun, then.”

Samuel has no doubt that the smirk stretching across his lips is very reminiscent to the one she’d given him before getting undressed earlier, but it doesn’t exactly incite the same reaction based on the waiting look and curious tilt of the head Carla gives him. That’s all well and good, though. He isn’t actually going for seduction here as he slowly backs away.

And Carla, eyes widening in alarm when she realizes what he’s about to do just a moment too late, is defenseless against the large splash of water Samuel sends careening towards her next.

To say she looks like a drowned rat as she stands there, water spluttering out of her mouth and strands of hair whipped across her face because of how she futilely tried to turn away at the last second, would be entirely inaccurate because Samuel’s positive she probably looks gorgeous even when she’s coming down with the flu. Still, it’s funny. It’s _very_ funny, and he’s laughing even as she stands there stiff as a statue, leveling him with the most murderous glare he’s ever been on the receiving end of in his life. 

Then she’s biting her lip in vengeful determination as she hurls her own handful of water at him, catching him in the nose so that he’s spluttering and completely unready for when Carla, laughter in her voice, says, “You _asshole_ ,” and lunges for him.

They submerge underwater in a tangle of limbs, Samuel managing to push her off with a triumphant grin after a quick, playful struggle. He tries to swim away, but Carla catches him by the ankle and yanks him back, then tickles his foot so that he flails and nearly gets another nose full of water. He narrows his eyes at her. She smiles deviously, then pushes off the bottom of the pool towards the surface.

He’s expecting the splash when he comes up for air, body angled away and holding his arm over his face protectively as he blindly sends one in return. He’s not sure if he even hits her and doesn’t get a chance to check because next thing he knows Carla’s on his back—one thing he’s forgotten, apparently: she’s a _damned_ fast swimmer—and has her hands pressed down on the top of his head, attempting to use her body weight to dunk him. It fails spectacularly given that she’s rather light, and Samuel snakes his own hand around and digs his fingers into that spot on her side again so that she releases him with a gasp. She’s scowling at him when he turns, but it’s sportive; lacking any heat whatsoever. They’re both panting a bit, breathless from laughter, exertion, and now tension from the silent challenge pulled taut between them. 

It’s one that Carla meets first. She dives for Samuel once more, except this time he sweeps under her, wrapping his arms around her waist and swiftly lifting her out of the water in a partial fireman’s carry. She squeals as the cooler air hits her, kicking her legs and pounding her fists against his back, but Samuel’s grip on her is strong and he smugly knows she won’t be able to get free. 

Carla must know too because she eventually stops her defiant wriggling, going limp against him with a sigh he suspects isn’t actually annoyed. “Put me down.”

The steely edge to her order is belied by the glee he can still hear in it. Also, by the goosebumps pebbling her skin. 

He pretends to consider it. “Hmm. I don’t think so.”

“Samuel, put me down _now_.”

“Nah, I like you like this.” 

He readjusts his grip on her, arms holding her knees to his chest. There’s a dull point on his shoulder blade that he thinks must be her elbow as she props her chin up in her palm, and he hates that he can’t see her expression. He also has to keep from laughing once he imagines it. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” she replies. “A child, actually.”

“ _You’re_ just mad you lost.”

The way she hums should set off a warning in Samuel’s head. In fact, it does, but that still doesn’t mean he’s prepared for how she walks the nails of one hand down his spine, tantalizingly slow and just a tad sharp. The light hairs on his lower back are standing up on end. Carla skims through them to idly play with the waistband of his underwear. “Did I?”

He is suddenly very aware of her hip and, essentially, the curve of her ass being pressed to his cheek. Carla squirms again, but it’s not in the same way as before—not in an effort to _escape_ —and he knows she’s doing it on purpose. 

Regardless, he manages, “Yes, you did.” It doesn’t come out huskily at all. 

“Wow,” she teases, “you sound very convincing.”

Samuel blinks back into focus. Two can certainly play this game, he realizes, and so he drags his hand up the back of her thigh, featherlight. The goosebumps may be preexisting, but Carla can’t suppress her shiver from him.

Or the breathless quality to her voice, no matter how convincingly she sounds otherwise as she asks, “What was it you said about keeping your hands to yourself?” 

He slides his fingers a few inches higher. “That was until the talking was over.”

“Oh, right. The fine print,” Carla remarks, parting her legs a fraction.

The door pushes open, followed shortly by a pair of laughing voices, and Samuel jumps at the same time as Carla twitches. He feels her drop her forehead against his back with a low groan a split-second later, and he twists around to find Guzmán and Nadia coming to a stop a few steps into the room, their conversation fading once they notice the hard-to-miss sight of him standing in the middle of the pool with Carla thrown over his shoulder. 

“Guess we weren’t the first ones to have this idea,” Guzmán murmurs slyly, earning himself a nudge in the side from Nadia’s elbow that does absolutely nothing to deter him. “Though we aren’t so acrobatic, I think.”

Nadia jabs him harder, and he relents with a sound caught between a grunt and a laugh. Samuel finally sets Carla down; by the time they reach the top of the pool’s steps Nadia is already waiting with two towels that they take gratefully. “Don’t mind him, he’s drunk,” she tells them with an apologetic smile.

“Sounds familiar,” Carla says knowingly, securing her towel around her body.

“Hey, I’m sober now,” Samuel defends. He’s more or less certain that the floaty feeling has more to do with the woman standing next to him than any remaining buzz he might have, but he tacks on, “Mostly.”

Nadia snorts, rolling her eyes. “Some best men you two are.”

“We are not held accountable for the _wedding planner’s_ actions,” Guzmán argues, and to his credit, his words aren’t that slurred; Samuel suspects he’s in the giggly stage of intoxicated. “Lu’s the one who insisted on having a bachelor party the night before the wedding.”

“And I’m sure she’s going to regret that decision even more than you will in the morning.” Nadia tugs on his arm, giving Samuel and Carla another contrite glance. “Anyway, we were interrupting—”

“No, it’s fine, stay. We should probably get going,” Carla insists before walking over to the lounge chairs and gathering up their things. Samuel makes sure not to let his disappointment show as she hands him his clothes, but she must notice nonetheless because she slips her hand into his and squeezes gently. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The two of them walk out after Guzmán and Nadia give their farewells, not hand-in-hand given that they have to keep their towels wrapped around themselves as well as hold on to their clothes and shoes, but close enough that they brush against each other every few steps. It’s quiet, though not awkwardly so, and Samuel finds himself smiling contentedly as they walk to the elevator. When he looks at Carla she’s got her own gaze on the floor, a shy smile of her own gracing her lips. 

_Shy_ is never a word he’d ever think to describe her as. He can’t help but think it’s a good look on her, just like everything else.

The doors open immediately when she presses the call button. Samuel leans against the far wall while she hits the one for her floor, returning to his side quickly. But the ascent seems to go on at a completely opposite pace; by the third floor up Carla has already rested her head on him again, and he feels his own tiredness creeping up on him, stifling a yawn.

They remain like that, wordless, until they finally arrive, Carla pushing off the wall with a small, reluctant sigh. He follows her to the threshold of the elevator, where she turns and places a hand on his chest for the second time that evening; he stops, bracing an arm across the doors to keep them from crushing him. Her eyes get momentarily caught on his lips before she lifts them to meet his own.

“My room’s right there. You don’t have to walk me.” 

“And if I insist?”

“Then _I’ll_ insist that I can surely handle myself during the ten-step trip to my door,” she quips, making him smile. 

“I know you can take care of yourself, which is why I wasn’t going to,” he replies, growing serious as she softly sweeps her fingers through his chest hair. “Honestly, though. Can I say something kind of stupid?” 

She glances up at him, waiting. 

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to have sex with you, because trust me, I really, really do,” he says, and Carla’s nose wrinkles in a quiet laugh even as warmth visibly dusts her cheeks. “But now I kind of want it to just be… well, not perfect, but—”

“Not like this?” He nods. Carla slides her hand up to caress his cheek. “Now that all the pent-up shit is finally out, slow makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Samuel scoffs, recalling what Rebeka told him at the dinner when he questioned if making his move would be too hasty. As blunt as she’d been, she was right.

“Yes, it does,” Carla shoots back without hesitation. And as if she’s reading his mind, “We have as much time as we need now. It’s not stupid. Actually, I feel the same.”

“You do?”

Her heels are dangling from her fingers, so she has to lean up on her toes in order to bring her lips to his ear. “I really, really wanna fuck you too,” she whispers, and Samuel inhales lightly but sharply, feeling the tremble in his eyelashes and her resulting smirk curling against his cheek once she undoubtedly feels it too. She slowly lowers herself back down, lips now grazing his own. “And I also want to wait.”

Then she flicks her eyes up to check in with him before capturing his bottom lip in a kiss, fingers framing his jaw just like she always used to; his eyes fall closed and he sighs deeply into the curve of her cheek as he kisses her back, melting into the soft feel of her. 

Another thing they used to always do is _escalate_ , however, and it isn’t very long before Samuel is carelessly dropping his clothes to the elevator’s floor so that he can place his hand on the small of her back, supporting their weight as he angles forward and deepens the kiss. He takes advantage of Carla’s lips parting on a tiny gasp to slide their tongues together, and her palm scrapes against his stubble before he feels her fingers curling tightly in his still-damp hair—and, _damn_ , he’s missed that; it makes him release a groan, hand lowering to cup her ass to press her closer, and Carla shifts to press a thigh between his legs.

It only manages to knock his towel free though, the thin garment falling between them, as well as make them both come to their senses. Carla pushes mildly against his chest and he releases her lips reluctantly, eyes still shut as she leans her forehead against his. They stand like that for a moment, doing nothing but breathing each other in.

Samuel finally opens his eyes. He can’t help but continue to stare at her mouth. “Testing both of our resolves now?”

“No,” she replies easily. “Just doing the one thing I definitely couldn’t wait for for a second longer.”

He smiles, but before he can reply the elevator doors jerk, protesting against his arm to close. Carla giggles as he jumps, then bends down to pick up one of his shoes that hadn’t landed inside. She presses it into his chest as she leans forward to place one final, lingering kiss on him. 

“Goodnight, Samuel.”

Then she pushes him away, harder this time so that he shuffles back into the elevator proper, and laughs again even while she looks over him appraisingly. He doesn’t doubt that he probably looks ridiculous standing there in his underwear, half-hard with his hair sticking up in different directions, but he really can’t bring himself to care.

He’s too happy—relieved, at peace, _in love_ —to. 

“Goodnight, Carla,” he replies, and the last thing he sees before the doors finally shut are all those same sentiments reflecting back at him from the dimpled smile on her face. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long this chapter literally kicked my ass and i restarted it close to four times, so i hope it’s worth the wait! also this has no plot whatsoever but it does have smut, sooooo
> 
> if you don’t like reading that then you can still read up until then and after the asterisk, because there’s plenty of fluff too :)

It’s a beautiful day.

Sunny, but not so hot that being outdoors for a few hours will be unbearable, and with just enough clouds in the sky to provide a nice amount of shade where the trees dotted about can’t reach. Even the breeze is ideal, warm and inviting as opposed to being too harsh or chilly; in fact, it’s all picturesque to an almost suspicious degree, like something out of a romance movie. If Carla didn’t know any better, she’d think Lu had made whatever higher powers exist ensure that the weather turned out and stayed this way, because she definitely wouldn’t have settled for anything less than perfect for an event she planned—and if there’s anyone in this world capable of intimidating a god into letting her have what she wants, then it is, without a doubt, Lucrecia Montesinos.

The amusing picture that that paints in Carla’s head, the lovely weather, or the beautiful decorations strung about the park where Ander and Omar’s wedding is being held isn’t why she hasn’t been able to stop smiling since she got back to her room last night, however.

No, that would be Samuel, who she spots coming out of a tent with Guzmán a few yards away, fiddling with his crooked bow tie and scowling at the other man when he slaps Samuel’s hand down before he can screw up his styled hair. Carla chuckles, too far from them to be heard or even noticed while they squabble, and lets herself quietly drink Samuel in while she’s still afforded this moment of solitude.

He looks so handsome, dressed in a dark blue tux she’s never seen him in before. It works for her, honestly, but because it’s him the quick pulse of arousal also comes with the added sensation of butterflies in her stomach, fluttery and light and _good_. Actually, it’s been present just as much as she can’t quit smiling, because in spite of the awkward bumps and unavoidable tears, last night had been nothing short of wonderful.

Yeray had noticed her uplifted mood in the car, teasing about how it was an improvement from the anxious foot-bouncing she’d been doing the last time they’d sat in the backseat a couple of days ago. Then he turned gentle and told her that he liked seeing her look so elated. And she _feels_ elated. Samuel being on her mind is not altogether a new development, not by a long shot, but for the first time in a long time the thought of him doesn’t also bring regret and the type of nostalgia that weighs heavily on her heart. Now Carla only feels hopeful.

And sort of like a schoolgirl with her first crush, which is ridiculous considering she and Samuel have actually seen each other naked their fair share of times. Though, she supposes, they’ve never really been given the chance to experience this stage of a relationship—never even had a proper relationship, _period_ —so she forgives herself rather easily for it, and yes, she’s elated, because even though she has a billion other things to deal with in the upcoming months, at least she’s certain she’ll have Samuel by her side.

With that, she decides to make her way over to where he’s still standing by one of the tents and fussing with his outfit. Guzmán notices her first, smiling at her over Samuel’s shoulder while also unsubtly nudging him on the arm. She thinks she waves as Guzmán leaves to give them some time alone, but truth be told, she’s mostly distracted by the way Samuel stares at her when he finally turns—with such open affection and desire that it causes something in her chest to clench just as much as it makes her want to drag him off somewhere and have her way with him. But she settles on a smile of her own instead, coming to a stop that leaves only a few scant inches between them when he meets her halfway.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dressed up before,” she says by way of greeting, hands coming up to fix his tie. She isn’t wearing heels today, so he observes her down the slope of his nose, and she imagines that’s why his eyes are doing that heavy, hooded thing of his that has never failed to stir a fire in her. It’s only fueled when he flexes his jaw and licks his lips right before he replies. 

“Not true. There was that benefit at your winery, remember?”

It takes her a second, but then she recalls exactly what he’s talking about. That party… that had been before he was even on her radar. Before _everything_. They’d been different people back then, totally unaware of how much they would grow to mean to each other.

She doesn’t let herself get swept up in the entire memory of that night though, sliding her palms to rest on the lapels of his jacket and tilting her head as a particular detail comes back to mind.

“Ah, yes. I also remember your sleeve being half-torn off.”

“Which is exactly why Guzmán bought me this as an apology.” Samuel cranes his neck to look down at himself. It really is a lovely tux, crisp and sleek, clearly tailored to fit him perfectly, but he doesn’t seem to think so based on the way he squirms a bit in the jacket. “He wouldn’t let me ask how much it cost. I’m scared to even spill water on the damn thing.”

“Gift giving, arguing like _you’re_ the ones getting married… should I be jealous?” 

“Oh, definitely. He and I are actually involved in a very torrid love affair and have been since our first year at university. I can’t believe I forgot to mention it sooner.”

A moment passes where it’s quiet save for the idle chatter spread about the park around them and the sound of Samuel’s barely-contained laughter.

“Ass,” Carla says, narrowing her eyes and lightly shoving him back. He laughs and brings his arms to rest around her waist with an ease belying the fact that just twenty-four hours ago they had no idea where they really stood with one another. It thrills her, and she lets herself melt against him, playing with the buttons of his dress shirt. “Well, Guzmán’s got good taste. Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Go ahead.”

She bites her lip and lets her eyes rake over Samuel unabashedly, taking pleasure in the way he somehow shudders and preens at the same time. “I’ve always had a thing for a guy in a suit.” 

“I guess I’ll have to trash my original plan of forcing Guzmán to return it tomorrow then.” He leans down so that the words are brushed gently against her Cupid’s bow.

“I guess so,” she replies, beaming.

The kiss is slower than their previous one, but no less dizzying. Carla drapes her arms around Samuel’s neck, making a quiet sound in the back of her throat when he tightens his hold to bring her closer. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last nearly as long as she’d like it to, because a voice suddenly ringing out startles them into parting. They both look towards the disruption and find Lu stepping out of the same tent Samuel had emerged from a few minutes earlier, the cross expression on her face softening for a brief moment when she sees the two of them wrapped up in one another before she begins barking orders again. She’s never been one to let sentimentality distract her, but Carla knows she should expect an interrogation once the reception starts.

“I haven’t seen Lu in event planner mode since high school.” Carla somewhat amusedly watches the other girl march off, then cocks her head. “I didn’t really miss it.”

Samuel lets out a sardonic laugh. “You’re telling me. _And_ she’s hungover as hell, it’s really a fantastic combination to be on the receiving end of. Guzmán and I are her only targets because we aren’t the grooms, the in-laws, or the guests.”

“Poor boy,” she says teasingly, reaching up to wipe a smudge of lipstick she’d left on the corner of his mouth. Her gaze wanders to where Lu is, in fact, berating Guzmán for not doing anything that she deems useful, making broad gestures with her arms that could probably take anyone out standing within a two-foot radius, and that’s when Carla gets a good look at her gown. There isn’t a veil or train in sight, but… “Is she wearing a wedding dress?”

This is evidently a conversation Samuel’s already had or witnessed, because he doesn’t even spare another glance to check, and the way he nods his head is almost dismissive. “She said something about, ‘there being no bride to upstage, _obviously_ , so I can wear whatever I fucking want to if Omar and Ander are just going to be in boring tuxedos.’”

“Yeah, sounds like something she’d say,” Carla smirks. “Though I have no idea whose voice _that_ was supposed to be.”

“Guzmán thinks my Lu impression is spot on.”

“Is that why you’re with him? Because he lies to boost your ego?”

A laugh bursts out of Samuel, a cute peal that lights up his entire face and makes her want to kiss him again. “Nah, I’m only into girls who are mean to me, apparently.”

“That just means I have plenty of competition then,” she muses, grinning when he _tsks_ in fake-annoyance and leans down to recapture her lips. She deliberately keeps it short this time; if they continue going like this then she definitely will end up hauling him off somewhere more private, and they’ve got a wedding to attend. “Go help. Otherwise Lu’s bad mood will extend to me for distracting you.”

“You do that to me whether I’m around you or not,” he tells her, so earnest that all she can do is smile, serenely now. 

Samuel pecks her one last time then, and Carla has to actually snap herself out of watching him walk away. Guzmán catches her, a knowing smirk on his face that dissolves into a laugh when Carla flips him off in return, her own smile tucked into the corner of her mouth as she leaves to find Yeray. 

It doesn’t take her very long to since he’s got a small crowd of people surrounding him, as always. Carla ingratiates herself as quietly and subtly as possible, brushing his arm companionably to let him know that she’s there. She listens along with a mixture of pride and amusement as he showcases his newest app; Yeray’s bounced his fair share of ideas off of her as they’ve grown closer as friends these past few years, and one of the many things she’s learned about him is that his mind is certainly creatively sharpened, but she’s also experienced this level of energy coming off of him many times beforehand. While she’s more or less gotten used to it, it’s sort of funny watching those around them—some old classmates, others random guests she doesn’t recognize—trying to adjust.

The only one besides her who really seems to handle it in stride is Rebeka, who Carla spots a few heads down standing next to a woman she suspects might be her mother. They nod at each other in greeting, with Rebeka quirking an eyebrow that Carla takes to mean, _he’s really still like this?_ and Carla shrugging with her mouth in a motion she hopes conveys, _oh, you have no idea._

It’s fond though, because honestly, Yeray has become her best friend. Maybe even like the brother she’s never had, in some ways.

That means when Lu comes out and asks them all to take their seats with an elegant smile belying her aforementioned hangover, Carla drags him over to a pair of chairs lined up at the end of the front row and sits down next to him. It also means that he playfully nudges her in the arm and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively when Samuel comes back out and takes his place on Omar’s side of the altar, because Samuel’s eyes immediately find her as soon as he’s settled up there and he’s glowing beneath the gentle mid-afternoon sunlight and Carla, in a typically uncharacteristic manner but also one that isn’t at all when it comes to this boy who once crept his way into her heart and has stayed there since, _blushes_.

Evidently, weddings make her mushy. But perhaps it’s just this one, where she’s surrounded by people she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop caring for no matter how much time has passed; where Lu, in her admittedly gorgeous white gown, catches her gaze and beams; where Carla watches on with misty eyes as Azucena escorts Ander down the aisle, Yusef and Iman following with Omar shortly thereafter.

Where Samuel hasn’t been able to stop looking at her, not even as Ander and Omar beautifully recite verses of the Quran to one another and then exchange heartfelt and watery-voiced vows— _doesn’t_ stop looking at her until they’re sharing their first kiss as husbands and the sounds of everyone else clapping and cheering kickstarts him into joining, like he’s forgotten he’s at his best friend’s wedding because his sole point of focus had become her and her alone.

Unlike Lu in event planner mode, _that_ is definitely something Carla missed. She’s breathless with joy and affection as Guzmán lopes over and drags her into a crushing group hug with the rest of their friends, and when the photographer has them pose for pictures, Carla’s smile is the brightest and most genuine it’s been in a very long time. 

She doesn’t get the chance to talk to Samuel again afterwards, swept up as he is in helping set up for the reception in a different, much larger tent than the one from earlier. Then he and Guzmán are emotionally stumbling their way through best man speeches, and then they’re seated at different tables for dinner. At one point she sees him headed off somewhere by himself, but Lu intercepts her before she can follow him, demanding to be filled in on every juicy tidbit about her and Samuel from the night before because, “I didn’t watch you two separately pine for five years just to be left in the fucking _dark_ , okay? Also, I can’t remember shit about last night except the fact that I danced so much, my feet hurt like hell.”

That makes Carla laugh, because she knows the feeling. And she laughs again when that doesn’t stop Lu from dragging her to the dance floor after anyway, the rest of their friends, Samuel included, flocking out to join them. They do talk a little after that, but it’s not one-on-one like she’s craving. It seems selfish, especially when she really is having so much fun—especially on Ander and Omar’s _wedding day_ —but Carla just wants to be alone with him.

The beautiful weather has carried on into the evening, and the air feels good on her flushed skin as she slips out of the tent a few hours later. She settles against the railing of a short bridge close by, more decorative than anything; it does provide her with a nice view of the small pond centered in the middle of the park though, the glow from the fairy lights strung about for the wedding reflecting off the surface. She lets her eyes fall shut and inhales deeply, the muffled music and laughter from the tent cushioning her, and basks in this sense of _peace_ that she never thought she’d ever get to experience again.

A familiarly clean, spicy scent drifts on the gentle breeze, and Carla opens her eyes to find Samuel coming to a rest beside her. 

“It’s really noisy in there, isn’t it?” 

She feels a soft smile gracing her lips as she observes the memory of that long-ago conversation twinkling in his eyes. 

“It’s quiet out here,” she agrees, playing along.

Samuel grins, reaching for her hand where it lies on the bridge’s railing. She lets him take it easily, wondering if she’ll ever get used to how she tingles whenever they touch, and then decides that she doesn’t want to.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a calm and quiet moment. 

She doesn’t even have to think it over, and her answer is completely sincere. Content. “I’m wonderful. You?”

“No complaints.” He leans against the railing fully and releases a tired-sounding sigh, looking out at the water with her. “God. Can you believe Omar and Ander are actually married _?_ ”

“I think the fact that Omar’s dad can out-dance the best of us is the harder pill to swallow, honestly,” she quips, making him snort in agreement. “But I get what you mean.”

“Sometimes I still expect myself to wake up from all of this, like I’m dreaming. Like I’m going to wake up seventeen years-old again, in my old bed,” Samuel replies. He glances down at their conjoined hands. “Especially now.”

Carla squeezes his fingers instinctively, reassuring him that this is real. And herself as well, probably, because—

“Yeah,” she quietly admits, “me too.”

“We’re really doing this? You and me. _Us_.”

She rests her head on his shoulder, hiding her smile in the sleeve of his tux. “It looks that way.” 

Another wave of silence falls over them, music carrying softly from the tent. Carla can just make out the words, idly humming along to the older tune when Samuel suddenly straightens.

“Hey,” he begins. “Dance with me. We haven’t gotten the chance to yet.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You mean, like how we haven’t been dancing all night?”

“ _No_ , I mean a slow dance, just the two of us,” he says, rolling his eyes like she gets on his last nerve. But she knows better. “Come on.”

“Fine,” Carla relents, pushing off of the railing with a teasing smirk. “As long as you don’t run off on me again.”

For that, he tugs her a bit harder than necessary over to a flat grass clearing nearby, startling a laugh out of her as she stumbles a few steps. He’s chuckling too as he spins and catches her against his chest, the hand that isn’t still holding hers coming to rest on her waist. Carla glares at him, but it’s a weak thing, easily melting away when he grins innocently at her in response and starts to sway them back and forth to the melody.

She places her head on his chest, sliding her own hand up so that her fingers are resting on the nape of his neck. They stay like that for a while, the dancing almost becoming an afterthought; she isn’t even sure that they’re still on tempo, because she can barely hear the music anymore, only Samuel’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

And then his sternum is rumbling with another laugh, and Carla peers up at him curiously. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just… two days ago I was kind of going crazy at the thought of seeing you again, and now here we are. Here _I_ am.” He licks his lips, meeting her eyes intently. “I’ve never felt calmer in my life.”

“We’ve always been a bit unorthodox.” 

“‘A bit’?”

“Okay, a lot,” she corrects before finding herself speaking softer, words hardly more than a murmur as she continues. “But that’s also just a testament to how easy we are together, when we’re allowed to be. And now we’re allowed all we want.”

“Carla Rosón,” Samuel says spiritedly, “are you asking me to be your _boyfriend_?”

She could pick out any word to describe him right now—idiot, ridiculous, child, _dork_ —but they’d be pointless, given how he’s making her beam so widely that she thinks she could probably outshine the moon hanging above them. But, still.

“Ask me again after you’ve taken me on a date or two,” she jokes.

Samuel scoffs dryly. “You might have to settle for something less than impressive. Law school doesn’t exactly provide room for extravagance.”

“I don’t want extravagance,” she responds, frowning, because doesn’t he know by now? She’s never wanted it, not since she was spoiled by late nights in his apartment, on his couch, in his bed. “I just want you.”

The thumb he’s been brushing along the curve of her hip pauses as his expression softens. “I think that can be arranged easily enough, then.”

“Might want to break up with your boyfriend first though,” she teases after a moment.

“And we’ve been going on so strong, too. He’s going to be devastated.”

She snickers, feeling him do the same when his lips skim her temple. They’ve stopped holding hands in favor of completely wrapping their arms around each other, and Carla settles against him, peering out at the expansive park stretching out around them as they continue to idly sway. It’s mostly dark save for a few lights dotting the trail every few feet, twinkling like low-hanging stars, and if she allows herself to listen over Samuel’s pulse and the music from the tent that isn’t even appropriate for slow dancing anymore, she can hear cars and crickets and the trickling of a fountain that lies just down the trail. 

“What are you thinking about?” Samuel asks, tone hushed.

“How I’ve never felt calmer in my life, either,” she answers. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

“About the time my mom took me and Nano to the zoo when we were kids.” She can’t help the huff that that draws out of her, eyebrows creased in both amusement and confusion, but he knows how utterly random that sounds too because she can hear the smile in his voice when he elaborates. “It’s the happiest memory from my childhood. Second to right now for the most at peace I’ve ever been.”

She rubs the tip of her nose lightly on the lapel of his coat. “Tell me.”

“It was right after my dad left, so I was like… six?” He must sense her frown, palm sliding to the small of her back and splaying there. “It’s a nice story, trust me. So my mom wanted to cheer us up, except I was young and really had no idea what was going on. I was just excited to see the animals. Have I ever told you I used to have an extreme lion phase?”

“No. I definitely would have remembered that.”

“Well, I did. Stuffed animals, pajamas, Halloween costumes, every single _The Lion King_ movie on DVD.”

Carla giggles. “Cute.”

“ _Embarrassing,_ ” he corrects. She can just see the faintest of color flushing his cheeks. “Actually, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“No, no, you’ve already started. You have to keep going.”

Samuel ducks his head sheepishly, her face pressed a bit into his neck with the movement. “Okay, fine. We get there, and I immediately drag them over to the lion exhibit. It was my first time seeing them in person; I begged my mom to let me take one of the cubs home to keep as a pet. 

“Obviously, she said no, but to make up for it she took us to one of those booths to get our faces painted—I don’t need to tell you what I got—and then let us have all the junk food we wanted. Nano still insists that’s the reason why he threw up after the snake exhibit, but I remember how he screamed like a little girl when he turned around and saw a boa constrictor hanging in front of his face on the other side of the glass.”

“By the end of the day, I was so worn out that he had to carry me on his back. But I was having so much fun that I refused to go to sleep because I didn’t want it to end,” Samuel continues before letting out a wistful sigh that tickles the shell of her ear. “We never went again. Couldn’t really make the time to, let alone afford it, as we got older. I’ll never forget it, though. Partially because my mom took so many pictures that it’s impossible to.”

She wishes she could have known him back then—but if it also meant it wouldn’t lead them to this exact moment, she’s not sure she’d change a damn thing. 

“You really had photographic evidence of yourself with lion face paint this whole time and never bothered to mention or show it to me,” Carla remarks then, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“How was I supposed to know you wouldn’t find it completely dorky? Spouting obscure feline facts doesn’t exactly make one ooze sexiness.”

“Oh, yeah? Try me.”

He hums thoughtfully, eyes going skyward as he tries to remember. “Okay. Female lions are the ones that do the hunting, not the males. They stay behind to protect the group, or pride.”

Carla’s already leaning up on her toes before he’s finished, lips brushing his own. “Mm, tell me more,” she murmurs mock-seductively, grinning when his laugh puffs softly against her cheek.

And then they’re kissing—she doesn’t know who initiates it first, but she does know it’s her that immediately deepens it from something light and chaste, angling her head to the side and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His hands are gripping her waist, though they slip just a tiny bit lower when she moans into his mouth, then lower still when she bites his lip encouragingly. His fingertips now grazing the backs of her bare thighs, she can’t help but shiver.

“Listen,” Samuel starts between kisses, “when I said I wanted to wait, you know that I just meant until we both haven’t been drinking and don’t smell like a public pool, right?” 

“Yeah.” She barely parts from him to answer, the single word almost getting lost between them. It’s still the truth though, and somewhere in the back of her otherwise preoccupied mind, she’s glad that they’d been on the same page.

He nods a bit aimlessly. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” she breathes again. Her hand slides into his hair, style be damned, and the short strands are soft between her fingers when she curls them there, eliciting a groan from him.

“We should probably say goodby—”

“ _Yes_ ,” she says, just a tad frustrated because he won’t shut up and she doesn’t want to stop kissing him for even a second and he’s _right_ , so she pushes him away with a smack of their lips and entwines their hands together, dragging him back up to the tent. Most of their friends are smashed again, including Omar and Ander, who hardly seem to register the fact that they’re leaving. Carla’s fine with that though, not doubting that they wouldn’t argue with them even if they were sober, and Samuel is the one to lead her back out the exit this time, his stride somehow seeming both hurried and leisurely as they follow the bike path to the parking lot.

Her patience has begun to return by the time he stops in front of a small vehicle, looking slightly embarrassed by it, so instead of shoving him against the door and slanting their mouths together, she merely gives him a look and gently pecks him on the lips. She hopes it tells him all that he needs to know—the reminder that she doesn’t care about beat-up cars or dates over home cooked meals, the reminder that she only wants _him_ —and fishes the keys out of his pocket, unlocking the car and walking around to slip into the passenger seat.

“Take me home,” she says when he settles next to her and starts the engine, and she knows that he gets what she means when he drives right by the hotel a few minutes later. 

The ride is quiet, radio turned off and the both of them comfortable enough to not need to speak. Madrid is as lively as ever, the streets busy with other people, but still Carla feels as if nobody else exists right now except her and Samuel. Just them, with her aching to kick her flats off and his tie having been loosened as soon as he sat down; with the soft glow of the red light they’re stopped at illuminating his smile prettily as she traces her fingers along the tiny hairs curling over his ear; with her arm draped out the window and the steering wheel smoothing beneath his palm when he releases it after turning on to a residential street she doesn’t recognize.

He pulls in front of an apartment building that isn’t the same one she snuck over to so many years ago, though Carla doesn’t let the bittersweet pang of time hit her now. They can’t take all that back, but as he opens her door and helps her out with a warm hand and even warmer eyes, she thinks that they can move forward.

They _will_ move forward. 

For now they move to the main door, leading into a lobby so cramped that it only takes five full steps to reach the elevator at the opposite end. And it’s precisely there where her patience gets exhausted again, because she is on him as soon as he turns back around from pressing his floor’s button, hands curling over his shoulders and lips sliding against his own. He walks her backwards until she feels the railing on either side of her hips, crowding her into the corner; she slides a thigh between both of his and relishes in the rough groan that rumbles against her mouth when she meets his stiffening cock. He kisses her harder, hand slipping beneath the wrap of her dress and grazing the satin of her bra before cupping her breast altogether.

Carla gasps quietly, more for his benefit than anything. It feels good, of course it does, but not so good that she can’t control her vocal responses— _yet_ , because she has not forgotten in the slightest how well he used to know her body, and with the way he’s touching her now, she doubts he has too. Samuel releases her lips and latches on to a sensitive spot behind her ear, nipping and then swirling his tongue over the mark. She just barely registers the elevator coming to a stop as he draws his hand out the front of her dress and slinks it under the skirt, and when his fingertips touch the hem of her underwear, her eyes flutter open.

She finds herself blinking back at a squat, elderly woman standing in the hallway, expression as beet red as much as it is scandalized. Carla pushes gently on Samuel’s shoulder, pushing harder when he doesn’t stop his distracting assault along the slope of her neck. She has to sweep aside the heady rush of arousal that pulses through her when he pulls back, pupils completely blown, and instead indicates over his shoulder with a tilt of her chin. 

Samuel glances over, then promptly curses. He whirls around, shielding Carla with his body so she can readjust her dress. The maneuver also serves to hide her amused and poorly-timed smile from the lady gaping back at them when Samuel begins stammering out pleasantries. 

“Hello, Mrs. Enríquez. I hope you’re doing well?” He blindly reaches back for Carla’s hand, pulling her forward without waiting for the apparent Mrs. Enríquez to answer. “Well, good evening!”

“Excuse us, sorry,” Carla offers as they pass by her, but it’s definitely useless because she’s doing a bad job at trying not to snicker into the back of Samuel’s arm and she isn’t all that apologetic whatsoever, actually. 

They only get a few steps down the corridor before they can’t take it anymore, dissolving into fits of laughter and collapsing against the wall. Carla clamps a hand over her mouth, peering back down toward the elevator at the same time as Samuel lifts his head from the crook of her neck to do the same. But Mrs. Enríquez is already gone, and Samuel meets her eyes, another giggle bubbling out of him as they grin at each other. 

“You think she suspects anything?” 

“Given the fact that your hair is a mess, my red lipstick is smeared all over your face, you have a semi in your pants, and it took you more than a couple of seconds to stop kissing me,” Carla responds, “I think the resounding answer is _yes._ ”

“Shit,” Samuel curses again, letting his forehead fall back on the wall. “She already hates me enough as it is.”

“And why on Earth does she hate you?”

He winces. “She may have set me up with her granddaughter, and I may have never called her again after we initially got coffee.”

“Let her despise your guts, then,” Carla chuckles. The words come with a small wave of jealousy she can’t suppress though, and he detects it, because his resulting smile looks distinctly pleased. “She probably thinks you’re some sort of womanizer. Standing girls up, bringing them home at this hour.”

“And in my dashing tux too,” he quips. 

“This ‘dashing tux’ needs to come off soon,” Carla hums, glancing up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Even so, when Samuel leads her further down the hall and unlocks his apartment’s front door, that doesn’t stop her from taking her time looking over his living room, just lit enough by a shittily-placed streetlight outside that she doesn’t need the actual lights on to make out some details. 

It really is different from the one he grew up in, less clearly decorated by a mother and more obviously furnished by a single, twenty-three year-old man. There’s a blanket folded over the arm of the loveseat centered in the middle of the room, right across from a TV pushed up against the wall that has a game console hooked up to it. Carla steps further inside; tracing her fingers along framed drawings and photos of him and his family, him and Guzmán, him and Omar and Rebeka and Ander, until she’s stepping through an open door that leads into his bedroom. 

And there’s no streetlight in front of the window in here, but the blinds are tilted open and the moon is big and bright in the sky, casting everything in a silvery glow: his bed, neatly made and sticking out from the array of clothes spread across the carpeted floor. The drafting table that she actually _does_ recognize, chipped and scarred with years of use. A dresser that she wanders over to, picking up and uncapping a half-empty bottle of cologne, and when she sniffs delicately at it, she recognizes the smell too.

It’s warm and familiar and dizzying. It’s of the guy she can sense leaning against the doorway behind her, patiently watching her explore. 

It’s of him and his gentle voice even as his gaze burns with _want_ all over her skin. “I never imagined I’d actually get to see you in this place.”

She smiles at him over her shoulder. “Never?”

“Maybe sometimes,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. 

She arches an eyebrow, turning around and folding her arms over her chest. 

“Fine, fucking _always_ ,” he breathes then, finally crossing the room to her. Carla laughs as he kisses her again, the array of toiletries on his dresser rattling when the force he meets her with pushes her against it. And then some of them clatter to the floor completely when he unseeingly knocks them aside to make room for her, lifting her up onto the thing with his hands on the backs of her thighs. She takes advantage of her newly elevated position to slide their tongues together, holding his head at an angle just to her liking. 

But Samuel gets impatient quickly, hitching her legs around his hips and picking her back up again, the ease of which he does it turning her on even more. His lips don’t leave hers as he shuffles over to the foot of the bed, gently laying her down and covering her body with his own. She kicks her shoes off, then is instantly reminded that he’s completely clothed and reaches up to slide his tie out from underneath his collar, tossing it aside and then managing to undo the first few buttons on his shirt before he rises up on his knees and shrugs off his jacket. She bites back any comments that come to mind about staining it with something far worse than water, observing heatedly as he’s left in the dress shirt that stretches tightly over his muscles.

He’s always been well-toned, in her opinion, but she can’t help but think that he’s bulked up just a tad more since she last undressed him, and with that, she leans up and goes for his belt.

Carla rucks up the tank top underneath as he pulls his shirt out of his pants and gets the rest of the buttons undone, leaving it hanging open when he gets distracted by how she presses a few wet kisses across his abs. Carla smirks up at him, straightening and reaching up to push the shirt off his shoulders. It goes the same way as the tie had, forgotten just as easily when Samuel yanks his tank top over his head and she can’t do anything but stare back at him, momentarily breathless.

His chest is heaving, smooth skin and the spit on his bottom lip glistening in the moonlight shining through the window backing the bed. Her lipstick is dark on his stomach, his mouth, his chin; and his hair is even more unruly than it had been out in the hall, falling over his forehead as he looks down at her. Honestly, if Carla had even an ounce of his artistic ability she’d stop right now just to immortalize him on paper or canvas, because he is more beautiful than anything she’s ever seen.

As it is, she reaches out and slides a palm over his chest, absorbing the shiver and goosebumps that the new touch elicits from his body. She tilts her head up to kiss him, slow and thorough this time, just like the exploration her hands make around his bared torso; just like how his own fingers carefully comb through the tangles in her hair when he lets it down from the low bun she’d been wearing it in all day, cascading down her back.

Samuel lays her on the soft comforter again. He only remains with her for a minute though, shifting to undo the tie of her dress. He parts it in the same way as he gazes at her afterwards—that is, reverently, and much like how she had looked upon him just moments before, like he never wants to forget what’s lying before him. His fingers come to touch the tiny bow sitting between the cups of her bra, dragging a slow, burning line down her stomach, over the piercing in her bellybutton, and stopping at the identical bow at the top hem of her panties. She catches the tip of her thumb between her teeth, waiting with baited breath for what he’s going to do next, and is rewarded for her patience by him leaning down and retracing that same path in reverse, this time with his tongue.

The gasp that escapes her now genuinely is unbidden, Samuel suckling over the tops of her breasts. She grasps his face between her hands and hauls him back up to lick into his mouth, swallowing each pant that leaves him.

And then it’s her turn to breathe heavily when Samuel weaves a hand between their bodies and presses his knuckles to her center, the damp material of her underwear the only thing separating him from touching her for real. 

“Yes,” Carla sighs before he can start in with the questions again, because she knows that’s what the gentle caress _is_ —a query to slide her panties down her legs, to shoulder his way between her thighs, to hold her open with his thumbs and slide his tongue through her folds, dragging wetness up to her sensitive clit. 

Carla twitches, exhaling long and deep towards the ceiling, digging the heel of her hand into the mattress. Samuel hooks one of her legs over his shoulder so that her foot can do the same in the middle of his back, and she is bared open to his thorough rediscovery of her. The sharp line of his nose nudges her entrance, tongue replacing it a second later in a fluttery motion that makes her head spin; Carla suddenly can’t stand to be in her clothes any longer, lifting herself up to yank her dress out from under her back and toss it over the side of the bed, unhooking her bra just as rapidly. She vaguely registers it landing somewhere near the drafting table, but she doesn’t pay much attention to it because Samuel groans into her at the sight of her breasts and reaches up, rolling a hardened nipple beneath the pad of his thumb at the same time as he sucks her clit between his slick lips.

It feels so good, so long-awaited, that she almost wants to sob with relief. Instead she manages to lessen it down to a whimper, biting down on her bottom lip and burying her fingers in her hair, palm sliding down to cover her eyes and furrowed brow when Samuel keeps up the unpredictable pattern he and his tongue have apparently dedicated themselves to. He goes from firm, intense strokes to quick little flicks to suctioning kisses—and then he’s adding his own fingers into the mix, sliding one in and then two, curling them up until he finds the spot that makes her back arch off the blanket and relenting just when she thinks she’s going to shatter.

He smiles against her when she knocks her thigh impatiently on his ear, hand leaving her breast to tangle with her free one in apology. And he’s clearly done drawing it out now, because when he latches onto her clit this time he doesn’t let go, pumping his fingers in and out of her in a perfectly steady rhythm that has her unable to do nothing else but crush his hand on the mattress and gasp loudly for air. When she starts bucking her hips, it’s uncontrollable.

And it’s just as unavoidable when her orgasm crashes over her a handful of seconds later. So is the way she raggedly breathes out his name, holding his head in place with her thighs and her hand and shaking under the lips that are still pursed around her clit, unmoving and providing just enough pressure to prolong her climax before oversensitivity takes hold.

Samuel senses when it does, noticing how her moans have begun to dissolve into winces, and backs off gently. She’s got the crook of her arm bent over face now as she feels him pebbling slippery kisses along her flexing belly, her hip bones; and then she jerks away from him and hisses a laugh when he gets his tongue to the ticklish spot on her ribs, peering an eye out to scowl feebly at him while he comes to rest above her, hands propped up on either side of her head.

She pushes against his sticky jaw, the gesture just as tired as she sounds when she says, “You’re so irritating.”

“Is _that_ what you’re supposed to say after someone makes you come? I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time,” he grins, dodging the lighthearted swat she aims at him again and catching her wrist in one of his hands. He leans down to slant their mouths together, Carla murmuring a quiet noise when she tastes herself on him.

He releases a much more vocal one when she palms his cock through his trousers. She finds him so hard that she thinks it must be painful, so she pops the button to his pants and slips her hand into his briefs, stroking him. She keeps the touch light, but even still Samuel grunts and drops his head to her shoulder, shuddering keenly. 

“Fucking hell,” he rasps, breath hot on her collarbones. “I’m not going to last long at all if you keep that up.”

“Do you have a condom?”

He gives her a rather frantic nod, stretching over to dig around in his nightstand. He returns to her quickly, and that just makes Carla come to a quiet realization as she takes the foil packet from his fingers and rolls the condom on him a beat later.

Because it would have been unfair of her to assume or expect him to not sleep with anybody else in the past five years, she doesn’t get jealous at the thought that she isn’t the first girl he’s ever had in this bed; that the box of condoms he’s got stashed in that top drawer hadn’t been purchased with her in mind. She knows, with as much surety as she can muster in her entire being, that she’s the only girl he’s ever thought of—and in some ways, that is all that’s important to her. 

Still, she can’t help but ask, perhaps wanting to hear it for herself.

“How long has it been for you?” She murmurs, tracing her nails along the curve of his eyebrow, down the slope of his nose, over his Cupid’s bow. His eyes don’t leave her mouth even when she brushes her fingers against the tip of his lashes.

“A little over a year, maybe,” he says after a moment.

She knows that he won’t ask it himself, but she also knows that he wants to. So she tells him her own answer, completely honest and unashamed, even if her voice is hushed. “Almost five, for me.”

Samuel inhales quietly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Carla, I—”

“Me too,” she breathes before he can finish, because she does—she _loves_ _him too_ —and then she’s helping him shove his pants down his legs, dress shoes falling to the floor with twin dull thumps; guiding him to her entrance and going open-mouthed against his temple when he pushes into her in one slow, hot, and tight movement. 

He groans into the hollow of her throat and pauses when he finally bottoms out inside of her, probably to let her adjust. But even if Carla didn’t savor the stretch, she is more than ready for him, and encourages him to move by tugging on his already-damp hair and squeezing her thighs around his waist. She clutches desperately at him when he obliges, the single thrust he gives just on the right side of rough, drawing a ragged sound out of her at the same time as a shock of electricity shoots up her spine.

It’s uncoordinated at first; no matter how much they still know each other in and out, of course it is. It’s still _muscle memory_ though, and they fall back into their old rhythm swiftly. Carla digs her nails into the meat of Samuel’s shoulders how she remembers gets him to fuck her harder, he ducks down and scrapes his teeth over her nipple how he remembers gets her to clench around his cock. When she does he moans sharply, and she pulls his mouth to hers in a sloppy kiss that ends up turning into them just panting into each other’s mouths as their hips meet in tandem.

It isn’t long before Samuel drops onto his elbow, bringing his other hand to the back of her knee and hitching one of her legs in the air so that he gets even deeper. She cries out with the change in angle, lips mashing with his bottom one and gasping against the gentle curl of his chin. She can’t stop touching him, either; her hands go from grasping the sides of his face to sliding back into his hair to raking over the shifting muscles in his arms, and Samuel shivers under her ministrations, turning to kiss her once more. He fucks her fast but firm, the head of his cock nudging her front wall maddeningly and his stomach grinding onto her clit the same, but Carla can sense him tiring.

She’s always liked being on top, anyway. He grunts when she pushes him back and down beside her, then hisses when she sinks onto him again just as quickly. She throws her head back, whining low in her throat; and when she feels Samuel’s hands dragging up her navel, she lets her eyes flutter open and studies him beneath her, chest rising and falling in sync with her own, eyes shining in the moonlight as he looks back at her like he can’t quite believe she’s really there.

Carla bites her lip. “You’re not dreaming,” she whispers, and then she plants her hand on his chest and begins riding him in earnest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Samuel stammers, eyes squeezing shut. She hums in agreement, a high and reedy noise that mostly gets lost in the slap of their bodies. It turns into another gasp when he starts rambling, head pressed deep into the pillow. “God, missed you so much, Carla, fuck.”

Emotion thick in her chest and making her ache with the need to kiss him, she leans down and can’t get past more than just crushing their lips together, whimpering in desperation. Samuel curls his hands under her ass, propping her over him and planting his feet on the mattress so he can jackknife into her, and Carla shoots a hand out toward the headboard to keep from diving straight into it. She drags her lips to his jaw, trailing biting kisses along the sharp, stubbled edge, making her way to his neck so she can suck a bruising mark into his skin. And maybe it’s done a bit possessively, maybe she wants Mrs. Enríquez to see it and know exactly who put it there, but Carla can’t bring herself to give a damn, not with how steadily Samuel’s driving her to her second peak of the night. 

Although it’s him who comes first however-many minutes later, with her grinding hard in his lap and his face buried in the sweaty valley between her breasts. His shout is mostly muffled when she feels him emptying himself in the condom, arm tight like a vice around her waist, guiding her movements slowly. Her clit catches against his abdomen and makes her shudder—which makes _him_ shudder, cock twitching inside of her—but it’s still not enough to send her over with him. She stays patient though, catching her breath and petting Samuel’s hair while he interrupts his discordant panting to swallow loudly. 

When his trembling begins to subside, Carla pulls his head back just far enough to meet his eyes. She remembers how he used to look like right after an orgasm—he’s always been _pretty_ , sometimes even annoyingly so, but especially when he’s fucked out and his eyes are sated and soft, chest flushed and heaving. Which is precisely how he looks like now, staring back at her from beneath half-lowered eyelids; he’s relaxed, but no less rapt. 

She holds his gaze, and she thinks _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , and she kisses him tenderly. It’s slow and she doesn’t mind it, not even with how her cunt is aching with her own need to come, but that doesn’t mean she protests when Samuel flicks his tongue to the roof of her mouth and slithers his hand between their bodies.

“Oh,” she sighs when he finds her clit, rubbing in tight, even circles like he knows she likes best.

Samuel doesn’t take his fingers off of her, not even as he lies back down on the pillows and encourages her to brace her hands again on his sternum. He squeezes her ass meaningfully, licking his lips in a way that has her eyes glued to them.

“Take it from me,” he says, voice gravelly. But it doesn’t sound like an order, it sounds like a plea, as if he wants nothing else than to watch her come undone above him, unbridled and selfish. 

And who is she to argue, so Carla digs her fingertips in his chest and speedily builds up to a merciless rhythm, only losing it for a moment when Samuel begins running his hands all across her body. He skims up her sides, tugs at her nipples; caresses down her abdomen and then swirls his thumb around her clit again, not relenting until she eventually sobs and stiffens. Her climax slams into her even more intensely than before, and past the blood rushing in her ears she can barely make out the sound of Samuel crying out weakly as she clenches around him. 

Carla falls on top of him when she can’t hold herself up any longer, trembling underneath the soothing motion of his palm up and down her back and the stationary fingers still pressed to the apex of her thighs. He coaxes her through her orgasm, waiting until she slumps once and for all, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

“Holy shit,” Samuel breathes out after a long, quiet second. 

She can’t see him, but she can imagine how he’s probably blinking wide-eyed at the ceiling. Nodding lazily, she blindly reaches up to comb his damp hair away from his forehead. “Yeah.”

“You alright?”

“Are you really asking me that right now?” She returns with a quiet snort. His nails graze her clit as he draws his hand out, so she lacks the strength to get him back when he pinches her ass lightly in reprimand. “I’m great, just… give me a minute.”

He does, stroking her spine idly. Carla closes her eyes, basking in the afterglow and feeling so boneless she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to move even if she wanted to. But Samuel doesn’t seem to be in a hurry either, touching the long strands of hair sticking to her skin, then taking her hand from where it’s fallen to his cheek and entwining their fingers over his chest.

That means she feels the rumble of his next words before she actually hears them, vibration soft. “You’re the only one who mattered, you know.” 

She pops an eye open, finding him already looking at her. 

“No matter how long it’s been, no matter how many people I’ve been with since,” he continues, “it’s only ever been you.”

He isn’t joking now, not doing the flirty, back-and-forth banter that they’ve been at nearly all day. This is his special brand of sincerity again, burning intently in his gaze. And what he’s saying obviously isn’t something that’s new to her, but it makes her shiver ever-so-slightly, nonetheless.

“I know.”

A soft smile cutely crinkles his eyes, his thumb brushing over the apple of her cheek. “And you’re the only one I want to be with from here on out.”

Carla mirrors his grin and stretches up towards him. “Samuel García, are you asking me to be your _girlfriend_?”

“Ask me again after a date or two,” he chuckles, meeting her lips.

*

Samuel looks around, taking in as much as he can from where he’s standing. The sign has been renovated, modernized and a bit cartoonish where it hangs over the gated entrance, and there is a large mural of a whole gaggle of creatures both land and sea dwelling that stretches across either wall bracketing it. It’s clearly new; he can tell because the colors are still bold and bright, not yet bleached by the sun’s rays, and also because the date and artist’s name is scrawled in the bottom right corner. He knows if this mural had been here during his last visit, he probably would have been gripped by envy, or at least determination to get his own work up on this wall someday.

If he squints hard enough through the bars separating him from the park proper, he can just make out the paved path that he remembers dragging his mom and Nano down all those years ago, map clutched in his small fingers as he followed it diligently to the lion exhibit around the bend. And honestly, he’s trying very hard not to appear as awestruck as the gaggle of little kids running around him this very moment, because he is a twenty-three year-old law student, damn it. He shouldn’t be so excited about visiting the fucking _zoo_.

But he is anyway, and he maintains that it mostly has to do with the woman who comes up beside him now.

Carla’s eyebrows are raised like she knows he’s eager to just get inside already and finds it completely amusing—maybe also endearing too, because instead of teasing him for it, she just beams brightly. The sight makes his breath leave him, because, really. 

She is _stunning_. Hair pulled back in a high ponytail, sunglasses perched atop her head; standing there next to him in a button-up blouse and short, flowing skirt that made them a little late than they initially planned on being due to how he’d snuck his fingers under the hem when she’d walked out of his room wearing it an hour ago. 

His room, his _bedroom_ , the one in his matchbox apartment. The one that she’s been staying in with him over the past week, and _staying in_ might actually be in the literal sense. They’ve hardly left the place at all except to get their things from the hotel the morning after the wedding, or to pick up groceries because three days in she’d demanded he finally make her macaroni. But other than that, they’ve been too wrapped up in one another to even bother leaving the warmth of his bed. 

And she is stunning when she’s dripping tomato sauce onto the collar of one of his old shirts that is way too big on her, when she smiles at him in the mirror while they brush their teeth, when she lies facing him on the mattress and tells him about her life in London over the past five years during the wee hours of the night. He’ll even get to see her look stunning like he knows she does when she gets the flu too, because she’s his. She is his and he is hers and neither of them are going anywhere.

Except inside the zoo, he reminds himself as Carla slips her hand not holding the pair of day passes she just purchased into his and asks, “Ready?”

Samuel nods, grinning.

“I still find it hard to believe you’ve never been to the zoo before,” he says as they walk over to the main gates.

“You’ve only been once,” she points out, rolling her eyes and probably remembering how incredulous he’d been when she first let it slip how she’s never visited.

“But I’ve still gone.”

Carla lifts a shoulder in a shrug, pushing through the turnstile. “Well, we’d usually just… bring the animals to us,” she replies, nose a bit wrinkled like she knows how that sounds. “At Lu’s tenth birthday party there were actual ponies.”

“How’d that go?”

“The one she was riding wouldn’t listen to her, she got pissed off, threw a tantrum, and then loudly declared that it was the worst birthday ever and that she hated horses anyway.”

“Horseback riding: the singular thing Lucrecia Montesinos isn’t good at. Who would’ve thought.”

She snorts lightly. “Don’t tell her I told you that, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It seems so unreal how we got saddled with the _less_ nightmarish version of her,” he jokes. They come to a stop at a stand displaying multiple posters and pamphlets, and Samuel takes one of the many maps available, splaying it open. “Okay. Where to start first?”

“What, you’re not itching to see the lions?” She smirks teasingly over his shoulder.

“That obsession phased out for me around the fourth grade.” Carla lets out a doubtful hum. He tries once more, continuing to play it cool. “Maybe I was just saving the best for the last.”

She plucks the map from his hands with an eye roll, stowing it away in her small purse before circling his wrist and pulling him along. “C’mon, Simba.”

He’s still not used to walking hand-in-hand with her in public, and based on the way he keeps catching her glancing down at their interlocked fingers, she isn’t either. She also appears to love it as much as he does though, not letting go of him even once when they get to the lion exhibit and she drags them up to the glass to peer inside the spacious habitat. According to the plaques beside it, none of the lions lounging amidst the tall grass are the same ones that were here when he’d visited last, having passed away years ago; but one of them _is_ a cub from their litter, clearly an adult now with babies of her own, and Carla tugs on his arm when she spots them playing together. They’re adorable little things, and his inner six year-old enthusiast self is definitely interested. Still, he gets caught up in watching Carla instead, finding her sudden excitement even cuter. 

She catches him rather quickly, mistaking his smile for a teasing one and narrowing her eyes as if daring him to comment, but her expression softens when he leans down and kisses her chastely on the lips. 

“What was that for?” She asks when he draws back.

“No reason,” he says. “Just love you.”

And he’s still getting used to how often she blushes around him now, freely and openly, color faintly dusting her cheeks as they dimple in a smile of her own. 

From the lion exhibit, they plot a straightforward course through the zoo. Samuel snaps as many pictures as he can, of both the animals _and_ Carla, and if he thought she was cute when she was watching the lion cubs, it’s nothing compared to how she gets when she sees the baby pandas. He takes so many photos that some of them are just of her faux-exasperated smile and the blurry image of her hand swiping at the camera, and truthfully, those are among his favorites. 

She takes pictures too, though—makes him pose with his palm upturned as if he’s feeding a giraffe that’s grazing in the distance, captures another one of him and a camel that he says looks like Guzmán, and then a few of his ass that he discovers while flipping through the roll when she’s in the bathroom. He laughs, raising his eyebrows questioningly at her when she comes out, and the upturn of her chin is deceptively innocent before she hauls him off to find something to eat.

At the end of the day, he gets one final photo of the two of them in front of the mural. The setting sun is warm in their eyes, and the pair of lion ears she’d bought to make up for refusing to get her face painted have somehow made their way on top of his own head, which he suspects might’ve actually been her plan the moment she picked them up hours earlier. Their smiles are tired, but content. When he lowers the camera she doesn’t immediately straighten from where her temple is pressed to his jaw, yawning softly into the back of her hand before squeezing his bicep.

“Not bad for a first date, hm?”

Her hair is soft on his skin and smells like his shampoo. He knows that she’ll doze off during the car ride home, that she’ll throw on a random t-shirt from his dresser when they get back up to his apartment, and that she’ll collapse on top of his bed before he’s even managed to kick his shoes aside. He knows that they’ll wake up hours later, starving all over again, and that she’ll sit at his counter as he throws the container of leftover macaroni into the microwave to get reheated. 

Now, though, Samuel looks down at her, and can’t find it in himself to disagree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m incapable of not writing tooth rotting epilogues apparently


End file.
